


AU Yeah Here We Go Again

by Rizobact



Series: AU August Collection [3]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: (Mostly) Unrelated Short Fics, AU, Additional Tags/Warnings/Etc in Each Chapter Where Necessary, Fluff, Idiots in Love, M/M, OTP Feels, au yeah august
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:40:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 25,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25661503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rizobact/pseuds/Rizobact
Summary: 31 days with 31 ways for the OTP to be all the (meet)cute!
Relationships: Jazz/Prowl
Series: AU August Collection [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1860811
Comments: 738
Kudos: 215





	1. Cafe

**Author's Note:**

> Writing for AU August feels like a tradition to me after doing it for two consecutive years, so I’m tapping into the power of tradition now in an attempt to shake the brainweasels and recapture a little bit of pre-2020. I miss it.

The door of the cafe chimed brightly as it opened, announcing yet another new arrival.

“Hello! Hey, I didn’t know you were on today!”

“Oh! Good to see you again! What’ll it be? The usual?”

Prowl kept his head down as the mech behind the counter struck up a friendly conversation with the large hauler who’d walked in. The place had a lot of regulars, but he wasn’t interested in becoming one of them. 

One of the servers making the rounds of the bustling floor stopped beside his table. “You ready to order?”

“A standard cube of midgrade and an SRF bar, thank you.”

The server gave him a look as he tapped the order into his wrist unit and moved on, but Prowl didn’t care. Let the mech judge; he was just here for fuel, plain and simple, efficient and affordable. If the precinct’s dispensary was closed for more than a couple of cycles then Prowl would buy enough bars to stash at his station so he wouldn’t have to go out at all.

Not these bars though. The one the server brought with his order barely qualified as SRF, and Prowl was glad of the cube to wash away the worst of the taste. If he’d wanted RDF, he’d have asked for it!

They were bad enough that he stopped at the counter on his way out to flag down the chatty Polyhexian behind it to inquire, “Excuse me, do you make,” he tapped the display case, “these on site or do you purchase them?”

“Why? You hoping for a recipe?”

“Hoping to avoid ever eating one again, actually.”

To Prowl’s surprise, the mech laughed. “Don’t tell my boss I told you, but,” he leaned across the counter and dimmed his visor conspiratorially, “they’re  _ disgusting,  _ aren’t they? We’re supposed to say we make them, but I can’t imagine why he’d want us to slander ourselves like that!”

Neither could Prowl, but the more important takeaway was, “So you do buy them then?”

“Yeah. If you’re looking for what not to buy over at the bulk outlet, skip their EN15440 and go for the CEN15359. Both’re labeled SRF, but I’d swear the EN15440 is just—”

“—just RDF,” Prowl finished the sentence. 

The mech laughed again. “Glad I’m not the only one thinks so. Hey, next time you’re in here you should try one of these instead.” He reached into the display case and pulled out a tray of textured beige semispheres coated in wax. “Lightning nuggets! Little bit pricier, but  _ lots  _ tastier.”

They did look awfully tempting, but it would be an unnecessary purchase, and besides, “I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

Or if.

“Take one with you now then.” The mech set the tray back in the case and swept one up into a to-go box. “Ta da.” 

Prowl raised a hand to protest, only to have the box pushed into it. “Thank you but—”

“Take it,” the mech said, forcing Prowl to do just that or let it fall to the ground by letting go. He smiled when Prowl caught it. “Call it compensation for that brick you endured.”

“You just told me they were more expensive.”

“Not so expensive we’ll go out of business from me comping one. And if you like them enough to come back for more…” 

It was hard to argue that as a business tactic. “I make no promises,” Prowl said, making to leave.

“I’m not asking for promises.” The brush of fingertips on his arm had Prowl turning back to meet the mech’s optic band. “Just a chance.”

The way he was looking at him… Prowl pulled away, forcing down the sudden awkwardness in his field. “No promises,” he repeated, looking away before walking quickly out the door.

The exchange kept niggling at his processor as he made his way back to the precinct. It had gone strangely intimate there, at the end; like the mech had been asking Prowl to give him a chance rather than the lightning nuggets. 

He’d seen mechs flirt before. It hadn’t ever been directed at him.

Still wondering if the mech really had been flirting, Prowl unwrapped the lightning nugget and took a bite. Somewhere between hard and soft, it tasted light and fresh and wonderful. Pleasantly surprised, Prowl glanced back at the cafe over his shoulder in thought. 

Just a chance… 

Maybe he would go back after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, Transformers, the fandom where writing a quick cafe prompt turns into reading scientific journals about reclaimed fuels. RDF (refuse derived fuel) and SRF (solid recovered fuel) are both real things, btw. Just remember: all SRFs are RDFs, but not all RDFs are SRFs. The More You Know ✩ Also, RL lightning nuggets totally look like Cybertronian coconut macaroons.  
>   
>   
> .  
> .  
> .  
> (and of _course_ the mech behind the counter was Jazz ♫)


	2. Wings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: a singular bug described in detail - just in case that bothers you!

It was happening!

Jazz rushed over to the dish on his windowsill, eager to finally see the caterpillar emerge. What had it turned into inside its iridescent crystal chrysalis? He hadn’t been able to identify it before it pupated, but now at last the mystery would be solved!

Already one end of the glittering oblong had broken open, revealing part of the creature inside. It flexed and wiggled as Jazz watched, slowly pushing itself out into the open air. The temptation to try to help it along was real, but Jazz refrained until the first spindly leg popped free. Even then all he did was place a finger on the cocoon to hold it in place while the creature finished pulling itself free, first with one leg, then two, then four and finally six. 

Where were its wings? Were those wings? Jazz nudged the creature with his finger and it latched on, tiny feet prickling as it climbed onto his hand. There were tiny loose flaps on its back, two on each side, but there was no way it could fly on those flimsy little things! Its body was too big, still looking very much like the caterpillar it had been before. The segments even moved the same way as it crawled over Jazz’s fingers. Had something gone wrong? Maybe it had come out too early, before it was ready.

Concern coloring his curiosity, Jazz set it down on a bit of rigid mesh he had propped against the window. It crawled around a bit more before settling into place, the tiny flaps on its back spread out as far as they could go.

And then they spread a little bit farther.

“Oh! Isn’t that clever?” Jazz sat back and watched as the flaps unfolded and expanded by increments. The bulk of the body slowly decreased, displaced into the wings — for wings they were — as they opened. “You have your own little microtransformation!”

The original caterpillar had been a mix of bright oranges and reds. On emerging, the new creature had been almost entirely dull red, but darker, brighter tones running through red all the way into purple appeared on the wings in distinct patterns as they reached their full size. 

Now Jazz recognized what he was looking at: a rhodolite moth, uncommon in his native Polyhex but apparently common enough here in Iacon to come across by chance.

“You’re beautiful,” he told it, taking advantage while it wasn’t moving to save a few high-res image captures up close. The way the colors shifted over the fine structures of its wings gave them a faceted appearance, the lights and darks mimicking the way its favored crystal reflected light to give it camouflage. The movement of its wings as it flicked them even created the illusion it was sparkling. “Absolutely gorgeous.”

The moth didn’t react, apart from swiveling the broad, feathered antennae on its tiny head as though looking for a breeze.

“Aw, don’t worry, I won’t keep you.” Jazz reached over and unlocked the window so he could slide it open. “You’re free to go whenever you want.”

It didn’t immediately take off though. Jazz watched it crawl from the mesh up the edge of the open window where it stopped and spread its wings, only to begin shaking them just barely up and down. 

“What are you doing?” Getting ready to fly, maybe? Jazz chuckled at the thought of a row of moths lined up on a track, wings vibrating like a bunch of racers waiting for the starting gun, then outright laughed when his mental moths morphed into Seekers. 

Whatever the shaking was doing, it must have worked. After a few false flutters, the moth fell from the side of the window and caught itself on its wings, flapping its way out into the open. It flew slowly, a bright spot of color bobbing through the air as it moved haphazardly toward the building opposite the one Jazz lived in.

Someone had a crystal box garden set up in their window directly across and one floor down from Jazz’s apartment. Jazz grinned as, sure enough, the moth headed in that direction. 

A mech appeared in the window behind the garden and opened it, looking down at the crystals. Jazz watched him scatter something at their base, completely oblivious to the moth descending on him. 

“Hey!” Jazz called across to him. “Heads up, mech!”

The mech looked up sharply, optics bright with surprise. Their intense blue zeroed in on Jazz, still missing the moth right up until it landed smack dab in the middle of his helm crest, wings spread out to either side over the red points of his chevron.

“Okay, that?” Jazz said between giggles, unable to contain himself at the way the mech was trying to look up at his own forehead. “That is adorable!”

Those blue optics turned back to him, blinking unintentionally in time with the moth flapping its wings. Jazz laughed and took another image capture (or twenty). “Seriously, you have  _ got  _ to see this. Send me your comm,” he mimed with his hand at the side of his helm.

Jazz’s comm suite buzzed a second later with a short range general query. He pinged back a confirmation, followed by the image captures. It was impossible to miss when the mech opened the file — his mouth fell open, then curved up at the corners into a beautiful smile. 

“Absolutely gorgeous,” Jazz murmured. He crossed his arms on the sill and leaned out over them, smiling back at the mech below. “My name’s Jazz,” he said, voice pitched to carry. “What’s yours?”

“Prowl,” the mech answered, moth still perched perfectly on his helm like a living ornament. “My name is Prowl.”


	3. Time Travel

The surface of the street was packed, not paved. Prowl drove slowly in an effort to minimize the amount of gravel his tires kicked out behind him and up into his undercarriage, unused to the sensation. Had this really been the standard for roads before the Golden Age? How had anyone gotten anywhere quickly without arriving dusty and dinged?

By the time he arrived at his destination, Prowl concluded that they hadn’t. It had taken him the better part of the morning to reach the tiny cottage driving carefully, and even then he was looking a little worse for wear when he transformed. Not that it would have been a problem with modern facilities, but with what he had access to now…

Opening the door to the cottage revealed a sparsely appointed room: a sturdy table on one wall, a standing oven backed up against the other, and not a single tap or spigot in sight. There wasn’t one in the next room either, which was even smaller, and a walk around the exterior of the cottage confirmed that the only way Prowl would be able to wash himself would be by rigging a cistern and a hose for a shower or making do with a rag and a bucket. 

A simple life, he’d always heard it called. Simpler times. 

“Hmph. They failed to mention that ‘simple’ and ‘easier’ didn’t necessarily equate.” Still, while there was work that needed to be done everywhere he looked, there was something exciting about it all. “It’s really… real.” 

He spent what was left of the morning familiarizing himself with his new home, cataloguing everything he did and didn’t recognize. The latter was by far the longer list, which didn’t really surprise him. He knew what the stove was, for instance, but the tools standing beside and hanging above it he could only guess at. The landlord had promised one of his other tenants would be by in the afternoon to help him settle in; hopefully he would be able to explain.

Prowl went outside to wait for his new neighbor, marveling at the fact that he couldn’t actually see where he lived from his doorstep. Open fields and clusters of wild crystals sprawled out in every direction, a stark contrast to the towering cities of the developed world Prowl had taken for granted his entire life. It was so peaceful; he didn’t think he’d ever take this landscape for granted, no matter how long he wound up being here.

He would, however, have to learn to slow down. Prowl stopped himself from checking his chronometer yet again, the ingrained habit only good now for feeding his impatience.

Luckily, his neighbor arrived before impatience had a chance to turn into irritation. Prowl queued up a message when he saw the black and white mech emerging from the crystals, then dismissed it when he remembered there was no central net for him to send it over. Instead he waved and set out to meet the mech halfway.

“Howdy, neighbor!” the mech said cheerfully with an outstretched hand. Prowl blinked at it before belatedly remembering the archaic greeting and extending his own hand to shake. “You’ll be Prowl then, yeah? I’m Jazz.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Jazz.”

“Likewise! And not a moment too soon, I see.”

“Pardon?”

“You’re lookin’ a bit lost is all. Don’t worry, I’m here to help. Ask me anything you need,” Jazz said, gesturing Prowl to walk with him back to the cottage. “And I do mean anything, alright? Even if you think it’s stupid.”

“All my questions are going to sound stupid, I expect.” They certainly did in his head. “I don’t think I realized how out of my element I would be out here. It really is like… well, like—” 

“Like steppin’ back in time?” Jazz smiled. “Believe me, I know. You’re from Praxus, right?”

Prowl smiled and flicked his doors. “Whatever gave me away?” 

“Landlord told me, actually,” Jazz laughed. “I’ve never been, but I know it’s twice the size of Altihex.”

“Three times, if you mean the population rather than the footprint.” And Altihex wasn’t a small city.

“Seriously? Wow. Hope you aren’t bothered by a lack of crowds then. There aren’t a lot of us here and we’re pretty spread out.”

“Intellectually I knew that would be the case, but I have to admit, the reality of it is something else. I almost wonder if…”

“If… you made a mistake?” Jazz slowed, bringing them to a stop in the middle of the field. Standing there with his hand-painted, sun-bleached plating streaked with machine oil and crystal dust, he looked every bit the pre-Golden Age tenant farmer Prowl had been hoping to emulate. “Only way to find out is to give it a try. I thought we’d made a mistake too, in the beginning.”

“We?”

“Me’n my twin. We both went through an adjustment period, wonderin’ if we’d lost our minds, but we stuck it out and it’s  _ worth  _ it, mech.” Raising his arms, Jazz turned in a slow circle. “All this — it’s amazing. You learn so much living like this, so much that just makes sense once you understand it.”

Prowl’s mood began to lift, buoyed by Jazz’s enthusiasm. “That was the main thing I was hoping to gain from this, truth be told. No matter how many books you read, there’s only so much you can learn about the past without actually living it.” Which was, of course, why places like this existed. There was great value in reenactment, and Prowl wanted to experience it himself. “How long will I have you around to help me?” he asked, resuming their trek to the cottage.

“Till the end of the season. We started our cycle in fall, so summer’s the last one for us. Unless,” Jazz skipped over a loose chunk of crystal, “we decide to stick around another cycle.”

“Is that something you’re considering?” They’d only just met, but Prowl found himself hoping the answer was… 

Jazz looked back at him with an easy grin and Prowl’s spark spun in his chest.

“Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This prompt is a repeat from the 2018 list (previous completely different fill [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15526128/chapters/36872661)) and it wasn’t easy the first time around, so if this felt like cheating a little bit… ~~time travel is hard!~~


	4. Bender

Despite his twin's constant worry, Jazz didn’t find it a hardship to hide his bending ability. What would he even use it for? There wasn’t a whole lot of scope for an air bending grounder in an underground city, and even if there had been, Jazz still wouldn’t have told anyone. Ricochet didn’t count, though sometimes he wished he could have hidden it from him too. It wouldn’t stop their creators sending Jazz away for training if they found out, but at least then Ricochet wouldn’t be so paranoid about being separated.

It wasn’t fair, Jazz thought, and not for the first time as he crept along the tunnels beyond the edge of their neighborhood. They were twins! Why was only Jazz a bender when they shared everything else? 

_ “Jazz?”  _ Speak of the devil; Ricochet’s frequency crackled in his comm suite, the thick walls of the tunnels interfering with the signal. “ _ Where are you?” _

_ “Out shopping,” _ Jazz lied.  _ You just get home? _

_ “Yeah. You gonna be back soon?” _

_ “Might grab a drink with some friends before I head back.”  _ More lies, but Jazz was going to be out for a while and he didn’t want his twin to worry. “ _ I’ll be there before th’sleep cycle starts.” _

_ “Better be. See ya.” _

Jazz let the call drop and kept crawling.

The small, sequestered cave was a secret he’d thought about telling Ricochet about. Jazz thought about it again as he dropped down and pulled out a portable camp light to illuminate the space. There was enough room for two mechs to fit comfortably, maybe even up to four, but that would have defeated the purpose. 

Venting in, then out, Jazz lifted his arms and raised a gentle breeze. He was getting better at directing it around the cave with his hand movements, but the wind didn’t always stay under his control. That was why he’d chosen this cave, with its single narrow entrance, to practice in; it contained his mistakes, but that meant anyone else in the cave with him could get caught in an accidental cyclone of loose rock and crystal debris.

Ricochet had reamed him out last time, though of course Jazz had lied about how he’d gotten so banged up. He’d felt bad about it, almost bad enough to tell the truth, but then Ricochet had started in on how he had enough to worry about keeping Jazz’s bending a secret without having to worry about him pulling stupid stunts in the high-speed tunnels.

“Overprotective fragger,” Jazz cursed, sending a deliberate gust at a group of pebbles to scatter them. “He’d say I don’t care about him, comin’ out here to mess around and risk getting caught.” Which was completely untrue, but Ricochet thought the only way to keep mechs from finding out was for Jazz to never bend at all and he was  _ wrong.  _ If he didn’t figure out how to control his bending enough to stop it from happening by accident, Jazz knew it was only a matter of time before someone spotted a slip-up.

Ricochet wasn’t a bender. He had no idea how hard it was to keep from moving the air with a thoughtless gesture when no amount of effort on his part created even the slightest puff. It made Jazz wish he knew someone, anyone else who could bend too.

Continuing to take his frustration out on the pebbles, Jazz didn’t notice the way the ground began to shake until it was strong enough to make him wobble. He windmilled his arms in an effort to regain his balance, only to bowl himself over with a powerful gust of wind. “Ow!” That had hurt!

The ground stopped shaking abruptly when he yelled out, so abruptly it was suspicious. Jazz pushed himself up, wondering what was going on. “Hello?” He felt silly talking to the empty cave but he needed to know, “Is someone there?” 

“-ello?”

“Ack!” The wall was talking! Talking and cracking right down the middle when the rumbling started up again. “Please don’t drop the ceiling on me!”

“I won’t drop the ceiling.” The words became clearer and louder as the wall continued to open, ultimately revealing a short mech with dust-covered plating. “I’m sorry, this cave wasn’t on any of the maps.”

What? Maps? “Who are you?”

“Tunneling crew,” the mech answered, tapping a badge on his shoulder. “I’m supposed to be checking the substrate for instabilities before any actual construction starts, but,” he looked around, then looked at something on the datapad clipped to his side, “I think I’ve gotten off-course.” 

“I hope so!” Jazz blurted out. “I don’t want anyone digging up my cave!”

“Hmm. Let me see…” Hooking the datapad back in place, the mech took a wide stance and lunged toward the wall, thrusting his hands at— no, into! the solid rock. The cave shuddered at the impact, and Jazz felt the pieces fall into place.

“You’re an earth bender!”

“What? Oh. Yes.” The mech let go of the wall and shook out his hands. “I’m an apprentice subterranean surveyor with Constructicons and Crew. Your cave is probably safe, by the way. We’re too close to the edge of the PHX-08135875 residential zone here for any large works.”

“That’s good?” It sounded good, but Jazz was having trouble thinking about the cave in light of the much more significant revelation.  _ He was an earth bender! _

“Yes, that’s good. Are you alright? I didn’t knock any stone down on your head?”

“No! No, my head’s fine, it’s just my processor spinning a little bit. You— I’ve never seen bending like that up close before.”

The mech sighed. “It’s just another tool. The only difference between what I do and what another mech could do with a spade and a scanner is the time it takes.”

“Pfft. That, and they don’t send you away from your family to spade-and-scanner school.” 

“No, they don’t.” The mech’s optics narrowed in on Jazz, who was now wishing fervently that he’d kept his mouth shut. “Did you get sent here too? You look local but I shouldn’t have assumed…”

“I am local,” Jazz said, wincing as soon as the words were out his mouth. He should have just let the mech think he was a Poly-framed Iaconi or something.  _ Please don’t let him figure it out, please don’t let him figure it out, ~~please let him figure it out~~. _

A look of intense thought came over the mech’s face. “You’re young, you’re local, and you’re hiding in an uncharted cave with a negative outlook on bending apprenticeships. Either you recently had a sibling sent away, or you recently discovered your own bending ability.”

_ Don’t say anything else you idiot!  _ Jazz shook his head and took a step back. He needed to go, now, before he screwed up any worse than he already had. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Keep moving, he just needed to keep moving—

“Please, wait—”

“No!” The mech took a step toward him and Jazz waved at him to keep back without thinking, sending a gust of wind strong enough to blast the dust off his plating whipping through the cave. “Oh no. That didn’t happen, that never happened, let’s just pretend nothing happened and go on with our lives as if we never met each other.” 

“So it’s you then.” Settling doorwings Jazz hadn’t even noticed he had, the mech held up his hands and took a step back. “I won’t tell anyone if you don’t want me to. I promise.”

Doorwings. He shouldn’t assume either, should really just take that promise and run, but something about the mech made him pause. “Did you get sent here from Praxus?” 

There was no missing the way the mech’s optics dimmed in the low light. “Yes. They told me it might have been possible to stay in the city if I’d been an air bender, but.” He turned his head to look at the handholds in the wall. “Too bad you’re not the earth bender. Then maybe we’d both be with our families.”

His voice was painfully matter of fact. Jazz’s spark went out to him. “It’s not fair.”

“It’s had its benefits. I’ve learned a lot.” The mech’s hands clenched into fists. “I wouldn’t wish it on anyone who didn’t choose it for themselves.”

Jazz believed him. The voice of caution (or maybe that was his twin’s voice, the voice of paranoia) was still telling him to leave, but if there was a chance, even the smallest chance he’d finally found someone he could share this part of himself with…  _ Please don’t hate me Rico…  _ “Does that mean you’ll really keep my secret?”

“I give you my word,” the mech said solemnly. “I won’t tell anyone and you won’t ever have to see me again.”

“What if I want to see you again?” Jazz took a step closer. “My friends, my family, I can’t talk about it with any of ‘em, not even my twin.”

“Your twin? But wouldn’t—”

“He isn’t. We don’t know why, but I’m a bender and he’s not.”

“So he’s jealous.”

“No. Scared.” Maybe Ricochet was jealous somewhere in his spark, but if he was it took a total backseat to the fear of being separated. “He’s kind of… clingy.”

“And you don’t want to distress him.” 

Jazz shrugged. “He’s a git, but I love him.”

For the first time, the mech smiled. “Brothers are like that. My younger brother started calling me Prowlestator when he found out I was apprenticing with the Constructicons.”

“‘Prowlestator’?” Jazz snickered. “That’s terrible.”

“I know. He couldn’t even come up with something creative, he just tacked ‘estator’ on the end of my name like I was going to become part of the combiner.”

“Yeeeah, I’m pretty sure it doesn’t work like that. Your name’s Prowl then?”

“Yes,” Prowl said. “What about you?”

“I’m Jazz, and I,"  _can barely believe this is really happening,_ “I’m an airbender,” he said for the very first time. “And I’m your friend?”

“I’d like to be friends. I don’t really have any outside of work. Oh!” Panic replaced Prowl’s smile. “I need to get back to work!”

“Oops, that’s right, you’re on the clock.” He probably would be until after the time Jazz had said he’d be home too. “When’s your next day off? We can meet here again.”

“Day after tomorrow?” Prowl suggested, checking his datapad. “I’m free that morning. What about you?”

Yes! “I’ll be here. Do you know how to get here from the tunnels?”

“No, but it’s alright. I can find my way back.” Prowl tapped the hand hold in the wall one more time before stepping back through the crack in the wall. He made another lunging motion and, with a rumble, the rock closed up behind him. “ See you soon.”

Jazz laughed. “See you soon,” he echoed.

_ Wow.  _

Ricochet was going to kill him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one got long. Which meant it got late. Which means Ao3 thinks I'm posting this on the 5th because time zones suck XD


	5. Bed Sharing

Emergency evacuations sucked.

Emergency evacuations from unfamiliar bases really sucked.

And emergency evacuations from overcrowded, unfamiliar bases really,  _ really  _ sucked.

The halls of their temporary shelter, a bombed out and barely repurposed gathering hall with mostly intact lower levels, were so crowded there was hardly room to walk. Traffic was one way, single file only, and if you needed to turn around it was faster to just walk a loop of the complex rather than dodging from pullout to pullout between oncoming pedestrians.

Exhausted after a shift of mincing around in circles delivering messages because there was nowhere to hold meetings of more than ten mechs in this warren, Jazz finally ducked away from the crush of the halls and into the room he’d been assigned to recharge. 

It was a room the size of a janitor’s closet — who knew, maybe it even had been — with a single makeshift berth set up at the back. 

A single, occupied berth.

“‘Scuse me.” Hanging back by the doorframe, Jazz knocked to announce himself. “You in the wrong place or am I?”

The mech on the berth twitched, then slowly uncurled from the rather awkward position he’d been recharging in. “My apologies,” he said, one blue optic flickering on beneath a scratched and bent red chevron. “Did I miss the shift change?”

“I’m just coming off th’overnight, yeah. You on day shift?”

“In tactical, yes.” The mech stood and stretched. Jazz was pretty sure he could hear each and every joint protest individually. “My name is Prowl. What’s yours?”

“Jazz, junior officer over in ops.” Prowl probably held a similar rank in his division, based on the bunking assignment. “Looks like we’ll be sharin’ for the duration.”

“Indeed. Primus willing, it won’t be for long.”

“You mean you don’t want to share with me?” Jazz laughed when Prowl just gave him a blank look. “Teasing, nevermind. I’d rather not be here a second longer than we have to be either.”

“With any luck I’ll be able to help do something about that. My apologies again for having to wake me. It won’t happen again.”

“Won’t bother me if it does.” Battered as Prowl was, his self-repair had to be running hard, and that meant sleeping hard. Jazz stepped into the room along one wall and Prowl moved along the other, trading places. “Have a good shift.”

“Thank you. Recharge well.”

Jazz didn’t have to be told twice. He was only online long enough to hear the door swing shut in time with his frame hitting the berth.

He woke some time later to the sound of his name. “Jazz?” Prowl called softly. “It’s time for the shift change.”

“Uuhhng, already?” Jazz turned and rolled off the berth onto his feet. “Heh. Sorry about that.”

“Turnabout is fair play,” Prowl said, surprising Jazz with the hint of dry humor in his tired voice. “I think perhaps we can agree that having to wake each other isn’t an issue.”

“For sure.” They traded places again. “See ya on the flip side.”

“Good night. I mean, good morning.”

Jazz chuckled. “I’ll take both,” he said as he headed out to face the day.

.

.

.

It became a routine, of sorts, over the next several shifts. With the next stage of evacuation waiting to be greenlit, Jazz and Prowl continued to share their little room and its berth. They continued to talk too, getting to know each other bit by bit in the short periods of time between day and night. Prowl, Jazz discovered very quickly, not only had seriously overactive self repair but also a massive case of tunnel vision when it came to his work. The combination of high energy demands and forgetting to refuel made him nearly impossible to wake up on the third day, after which Jazz began bringing a ration back with him so the mech at least got  _ something. _

“You really don’t have to do this,” Prowl said the second time Jazz handed him a cube.

“Maybe, but I’m gonna keep doing it. You clearly need looking after.”

“Says the mech who forgot where our room is.”

“I do not! I just missed the turnoff.” One time he’d complained about having to walk all the way around the building again to get back to bed and Prowl hadn’t let him forget it since. “For real though, you should take better care of yourself. Those injuries aren’t lookin’ much better than when we first got here and they should’ve by now.”

“I have an appointment in medical,” aka the converted conference room that passed for medical, “halfway through my shift to have my optic replaced. I’m sure they’ll let me know if there’s anything else of significance to be concerned about.”

“Here’s hoping.” The medical team were as overcrowded and overworked as the rest of them; perfect conditions for missing minor signs of impending system failure, but Jazz didn’t want to borrow trouble. “You tell me if they find anything, alright?”

“I’ll submit you a report in triplicate.”

“Primus, spare me!” Jazz laughed, and Prowl cracked a small smile. “Now drink that and get on with your day so I can pass out.”

“Yes, sir.” Downing his ration in one long draft, Prowl stood and surrendered the bed to Jazz’s unconscious grace.

It didn’t last as long as it usually did. With over a third of the day shift left, Jazz’s sleep was interrupted by the sound of pacing just outside in the hall.

“Come in or go away,” he whined, turning over groggily to face the door. When it opened to reveal Prowl, however, he shook himself awake and sat up. “‘S wrong? Everything alright?”

“Everything’s fine. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have disturbed you.”

“Woah, woah, woah, get back here.” Jazz grabbed Prowl’s arm before he could finish retreating back into the hall. “Did you just get done in medical?”

“I did.” Both of his optics were illuminated now, but Prowl wouldn’t meet Jazz’s gaze. “I’ve been put on light duty — half shifts — until my self repair catches up.”

“Is  _ that  _ all? You had me worried there for a sec!”

“Jazz…” Prowl glanced up, then over Jazz’s shoulder, then back at the floor. “There’s only one berth.”

“Yeah.” Jazz looked back at it too before looking back at Prowl. “So?”

“You need a full shift of recharge.”

“Yeah… oh.” They’d been trading shifts in the berth, but if Prowl was suddenly on half shifts… “Not a problem. Come on.” Jazz tugged on Prowl’s arm and pushed him down on the edge of the berth. “Lie down.”

“No,” Prowl tried to get up, “I won’t let you short yourself for me.”

“Ain’t shortin’ myself.” Jazz pushed him down again, this time climbing onto the berth with him. It was a tight fit, but they were both on the smaller side. “See? We can make it work.”

Prowl stopped fighting to get free, but he remained tense beneath Jazz. “Are you sure?” he asked after a moment, almost timid.

“Course I’m sure. Now,” Jazz settled performatively. “Relax’n recharge. Medic’s orders.” 

“…thank you, Jazz.” The tension bled out of Prowl’s frame and he went limp, recharge closing in quickly the second he stopped fighting it. “Don’t worry about waking me when you have to get up.”

“I promise.” Satisfied that Prowl was finally getting a chance to recover, Jazz powered down and joined him in sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, the prompt said “bed sharing”, not “roommates” (that’s later in the month ~~and now I don’t have to write it because this counts for both, right? XD~~ ) But seriously, pretty much every scenario I tossed around for this one wound up doubling as roommates in one form or another, so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	6. Enemies

War was impersonal; it had to be if they were going to win. Their enemies had to be monsters, not mechs. 

Prowl struggled with that more than most realized. The Autobots thought even their own ranks were little more than cogs in the war machine to him, but it wasn’t true. He wasn’t a sparkless drone incapable of emotion. He hurt when he saw the casualty lists and he hated when he saw the intelligence reports, personally invested in every name he read — and no none more so than one.

A low, angry growl started in his engine when he saw it come up again.

_ Jazz. _

It wasn’t healthy to harbor such a personal vendetta, but he couldn’t help it in this case. Jazz was more than their enemy, he was  _ Prowl’s  _ enemy, dismantling his plans and murdering his mechs. He took an indecent amount of pleasure in being as disruptive and destructive as possible and Prowl wouldn’t stop, couldn’t stop, until he succeeded in wiping the grin off the slagging saboteur’s face. 

It was either that, or that stupid smile would probably be the last thing he ever saw.

.

.

.

War was personal; that was how the whole thing had started. Their enemies were monsters, not mechs.

Jazz didn’t buy into that as much as the others. The Decepticons thought he was as eager as the rest of them to punish everyone who had ever wronged them, but it wasn’t true. He wasn’t a hothead obsessed with “getting his own”. He had a job to do and he took pride in doing it, applying his skill judiciously to every mission he took — and more and more of them were requiring all of it.

A soft, frustrated growl built in his vocalizer when he thought of him.

_ Prowl. _

He wasn’t normally one for holding personal vendettas, but he’d made an exception in this case. Prowl was more than an obstacle, he was Jazz’s  _ enemy,  _ specifically targeting him and getting in his way. He was unfairly good at coordinating his forces and directing assaults and Jazz couldn’t stop, wouldn’t stop, until he succeeded in snuffing the light of the fragging tactician’s spark.

It was either that, or those cold, calculating optics would probably be the last thing he ever saw.


	7. Royalty

The stack of books hit the table with a heavy  _ thwump!  _ Prowl crossed his arms and looked down at his accumulated research with satisfaction. 

If he was going to have to do this, he was going to do it right.

The ministers would say this wasn’t his responsibility, but Prowl wasn’t going to leave his future in the hands of others. As the prince of the realm it was his duty to bond for the good of Praxus, but it would also be his duty one day to decide what the good of Praxus was. As far as he was concerned, that meant he should take part in determining what the best possible match he could make would be.

And why wait for his final upgrades to begin evaluating his options? He’d finished compiling preliminary dossiers on every eligible bondmate in the region already. Now, he could narrow down the list.

Some of them were easily eliminated. Unless something unimaginable happened between now and the time he reached his maturity, there was no way he was bonding with the prince of Vos. The mechling was already known to be intolerable, and his nation’s low opinion of Praxus meant there was no chance of an equal bonding contract regardless. Then there was Kaon, which, short of a miracle, had nothing worth extending a bonding offer for. Crystal City though, or Polyhex. They might be worth considering. Iacon definitely was, as was Tarn.

One by one Prowl reviewed each candidate, considering their nations, their sparklines, their descriptions and reputations. He didn’t have anywhere near enough information for a final selection yet, but that was precisely why he was starting now. There was plenty of time for him to investigate and build a case to lay before the king. 

Short list compiled, Prowl took himself over to his writing desk and pulled out a sheet of fine quality vellum and his inkwell. He dipped his pen and poised it over the page, pausing to gather his thoughts.

He had several letters to compose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woohoo, the first story to span more than one prompt! Sorry part one is so short and the rest won’t be up until later :p Don’t worry, I’ll link the pieces when it’s done so it’s easy to navigate.
> 
> Edit: now continues in [Pen Pal](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25661503/chapters/63524653).


	8. Secret Dating

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: Kissing, clubbing, PnP (bumped the rating, this one did; it was bound to happen eventually XD)

Patience wasn’t something Jazz usually struggled with. Tonight, however, he felt every click of his chronometer like claws on his plating. He had a rendezvous he was  _ not  _ going to miss, and this meeting was eating into the time he needed to prepare for it.

“Alright then,” he said when no one asked any more questions, “are we all done here? Not that I’m tryin’ to chase anyone off,” like slag he wasn’t, “but it sounds like we’re all on the same page now.”

“I know I’m good,” Bumblebee said, a cheeky grin on his face. “This isn’t our first rodeo.”

Mirage nodded his agreement. “The mission should be fairly straightforward the way things stand at the moment, and there are enough variables in play that I don’t believe it would pay to try to plan for all contingencies now.”

“My thoughts exactly.” That, and he was itching to be on his way already. Jazz rapped his knuckles on the table with finality. “Meeting adjourned, mechs. I’ll call y’all back when we’ve got updated intel closer to go time.”

It was a relief when none of his agents lingered behind to talk to him. They were all excellent mechs and the impromptu after-meeting meetings he had one on one with them were invaluable for raising concerns and revealing problems long before they otherwise would have come to light, but Jazz’s processor was all but completely clocked out.

The only ops related thought left in his head was how he was going to sneak out to change up his colors without anyone being the wiser.

.

.

.

No one questioned Prowl returning to his office instead of heading to his berth with his evening cube. He kept the smile off his face until he was behind closed doors where no one would see. There were perks to being predictable; thanks to his routine-driven life, everyone would simply assume he had spent another all-nighter at his desk.

It would never occur to them to doubt, and certainly not to check, whether his office had actually been occupied all night.

Which it wouldn’t be.

Stashing the cube in a drawer, Prowl dug into his code and triggered the hidden subroutine that controlled his frame’s configuration. A series of microtransformations rippled across his plating, altering his appearance in subtle ways that nonetheless made for an excellent disguise. 

There was no one there to see him when he slipped out into the hall, but they wouldn’t have recognized him if there had been. Different colors and a different carriage made him a different mech, one who walked off the base and into the city with a swagger no one would have pinned on Prowl. 

.

.

.

One custom repaint later and the mech who’d walked into the detailing garage as Jazz stepped out as someone else entirely. The light reconfiguration and full recolor was freedom, pure freedom as he sped down the streets. He let out an ecstatic whoop, fishtailing back and forth for the sheer fun of it. Ohhh, he’d needed this; this and what he was driving toward.

He pulled up outside the club in record time, transforming with a dramatic flourish that had several of its patrons clapping. Jazz bowed and twirled again, perfectly happy to show off until he spotted the mech he was here for.

“‘Cade!” 

The dark colored Praxan turned at the shout with a hungry smile that  _ did  _ things to Jazz. “You made it,” he said, the words almost easier to read on his lips than to hear over the noise of the club. A few quick strides rendered words irrelevant though, as Barricade swept into his personal space and invaded his mouth with an aggressive kiss.

Jazz kissed back, not hesitating to give as good as he got, long and lingering and hot. “Glad y’could make it,” he breathed during a brief pause. 

“You have no idea.” Barricade punctuated the sentiment with a heady rev of his engine and a sharp nip of his teeth. “I don’t think I could have taken another rain check if you’d had to cancel.”

“Been driving you crazy, has he?” 

“Does he ever not?” 

“Hmm. Yours and mine both.” Jazz pulled back enough to nod his head toward the club. “Shall we?”

It was an unconventional relationship, theirs. Jazz, introducing himself as Meister, had told Barricade when he’d first met him that he just wanted a frag and that he wanted that frag from ‘Cade specifically because he looked like ~~Prowl~~ someone else. Barricade had laughed and said he didn’t mind playing substitute, as long as Jazz didn’t mind doing the same. Several phenomenal overloads later they’d both come to the conclusion that being each others’ second best was pretty fragging good actually, and they’d agreed on a time to hook up again.

And again.

And again.

He had to admit though, as they walked side by side into the pulsing lights and music with lust-charged fields playfully intertwined, that there might be the potential for more than just fragging. On his side, anyway; Prowl would never reciprocate his feelings and that was a fact, but Jazz didn’t know how hopeless Barricade’s fixation was, only that it was strong enough to drive him to distraction when he had to be around the oblivious object of his affections for long stretches at a time. 

Jazz could certainly relate. He desperately needed an outlet before he lost it and made a complete fool of himself after a week of near-constant contact with the rest of the command staff, and Barricade was one hell of an outlet to plug into.

“Something funny?” Barricade asked when Jazz started snickering.

“Just amusin’ myself with my dirty mind,” Jazz answered, snaking a hand up Barricade’s spinal column to tease one of the port covers hidden between his doors. “Want me to share?”

“Soon,” Barricade rumbled, sidestepping Jazz’s hand and turning to draw him onto the dance floor. “I want you nice and warmed up first.”

Jazz shivered. “You got it!”

.

.

.

Watching Meister dance was sweet, sweet torture and Prowl loved it. The frame resemblance was already remarkable, but when he moved like that he really looked like Jazz. It made the headache he was going to have in the morning from all the lights and sounds worth it, though Prowl had every intention of suggesting a more sedate venue for their next date. Something like the cheap, underrated hole in the wall where Meister had first approached him, propositioning “Barricade” out of a desire for whoever he reminded him of.

It still surprised Prowl that he’d agreed, but he had no regrets. There was no way a mech like Jazz would ever look at him twice, and Meister was the perfect way to live out a fantasy. 

A fantasy and a vision.

It wasn’t long before Prowl’s resistance crumbled. The next time Meister went to grind against him, Prowl wrapped his arms around his waist and lifted him off the ground for a searing kiss. He felt Meister’s legs wrap around his own waist a second later, clinging and kissing for all he was worth in a swirl of steaming air. 

“Warm up’s over,” he declared. “Time for the main event.”

Prowl carried Meister off the floor as he fumbled behind his back, fingers once again looking for a port. Flirting and foreplay out in the open was one thing, but he preferred privacy for the actual crossing of cables. How convenient, then, that there were alcoves scattered around the club for that express purpose.

As the charge surged between them, building with intensity with each wave, the pretense that Jazz had miraculously taken an interest in him began to fall away. Prowl was glad they were only sharing sensory data; he didn’t want to lose the mech shuddering beneath him, with him, because he was beginning to consider expanding the scope of their arrangement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, Barricade!Prowl isn’t something I generally headcanon. He’s too useful and too much fun as his own character, and having Jazz and Prowl both pulling the same trick feels like it diminishes it. In this case, however, the idea of these two idiots secretly dating each other because they secretly want to date each other without realizing they’re secretly dating each other was too good to pass up, lol.
> 
> Continues in [Masquerade](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25661503/chapters/63124903).


	9. University

One term into his studies and Jazz could say, with confidence, that he knew every single mech on campus. He knew all their quirks, their rhythms and their routines.

Prowl’s routine did not include sleeping facedown on a table in the corner of the cafeteria in the middle of the afternoon. 

Jazz spotted him there on his way in, slumped over his datapads. He looked exhausted, not moving once the entire time it took Jazz to get and eat his lunch. He kept glancing over at him, wondering if he should get up and check on him. They’d only spoken a handful of times in passing, hadn’t ever properly exchanged names, but it didn’t feel right leaving him there to get a kink in his doors.

Decision made, Jazz got back in the fuel line and grabbed a fresh cup of piping hot coffee.

Taking the seat next to Prowl, Jazz gently blew the rising steam toward the sleeping Praxan. Aww, that was adorable; he twitched! Jazz kept blowing, watching how the fragrance slowly roused him from his sleep.

“Morning,” he said when Prowl finally raised his head. “Got you a coffee.” 

Optics still dim with sleep blinked at him before focusing on the cup. Jazz steadied it as Prowl's hand came up and fumbled for it, making sure it didn’t spill before he could get it to his lips. “Hmmm…” 

“Good?” Jazz drew back, giving Prowl room to sit up. “A table ain’t exactly the best place for a nap.”

“Not the most comfortable, certainly.” He’d barely moved the cup away from his mouth to speak, talking over the rim so he could keep drinking easily. “Thank you…?” 

“Jazz.”

“Thank you, Jazz.” He finished off half the cup in one solid swig. “I needed that.”

“It looked like it. Prowl, right?” Prowl nodded. “You want some help getting all this back to your room?”

“You’d be willing?”

“Wouldn’t’ve offered if I wasn’t. Here,” Jazz gathered up a couple of datapads and smiled. “Let’s go.” 


	10. Reverse Crush

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: propositioning, talk and thoughts about sex 

“I’m sorry mech, but I’m going to have to turn you down.” 

“What?” That was unexpected. “Seriously?”

Smokescreen smirked. “Thought I was a sure thing, did you?”

“I figured the odds were good,” Jazz said smoothly, playing off his miscalculation. The rejection didn’t offend him, but it was a little embarrassing. “Ain’t no such thing as a sure-sure thing, but you’re not usually one to turn down a good time.”

“I know. Believe me, I’m as sorry for me as I am for you that I have to say no.”

Okay, now Jazz was curious. “Wanna at least tell me what’s up with this ‘have to’?”

“Ever heard of the bro code?”

“Pfft. ‘Course I have,” because of course he had, “but what’s that got to do with it?”

Smokescreen gave him a flat look. “Are you telling me you don’t know?”

Slag; what had he missed? “I guess I don’t,” Jazz said as he wracked his processor and came up empty. “Come on, if you’re gonna leave me high and dry at least don’t leave me hangin’ too!”

That got him a laugh. “Well, when you put it that way.” Smokescreen leaned in and lowered his voice. “I’d clang that,” he slapped a hand against Jazz’s aft, “in a hot minute, but my cousin’s got a massive crush on you and he’d have  _ my  _ aft if he thought I was edging him out.”

It was the revelation, not the slap, that had Jazz’s jaw falling open. “You’re joking.”

“Nope. Cross my spark,” Smokescreen held a hand to his chest. “Prowl’s sweet on you.”

“And Megatron’s taken up flower arranging.” That was ridiculous. Prowl didn’t have a crush on him! “There’s no way I’d miss something like that if it was true, Smokey!”

“Oh, it’s true. He’s as unobvious about it as possible because he’s Prowl,” Smokescreen rolled his optics, “but the way he talks about you? The amount he talks about you? Definitely crushing.” 

“Puh-lease. Next time leave it at ‘I’m not interested’.” Jazz pulled away and headed down the hall. “Or just admit you’ve got a case of corrosion!”

“I do  _ not,”  _ Smokescreen laughed. “Start watching him! You’ll see what I mean.”

Yeah, right. Jazz would watch alright, and then he’d prove Smokescreen was a dirty, rotten liar.

.

.

.

A week later Jazz wasn’t so sure. He’d thought Smokescreen was full of it, but every time he and Prowl were in the same room, all Jazz had to do was look away and boom! Prowl was staring at him when he looked back. 

It wasn’t with suspicion. Jazz knew what Suspicious!Prowl looked like after the last wave of pranks had swept the Ark, and his expression wasn’t stern enough for that. Likewise, Angry!Prowl would have had much stiffer posture, and Worried!Prowl would have fidgeted.

Prowl was kind of adorable when he fidgeted.

Maybe he should just stop looking. He didn’t want to give Prowl the wrong idea after all; if he really did have a crush on him — which was still utterly ridiculous — it wouldn’t be fair to get his hopes up. Prowl just wasn’t his type!

Well. Not completely not his type. Jazz wasn’t sure how he’d never put two and two together before, but Prowl had a lot of the same features he liked so much about Smokescreen’s frame. Sure, his coloring wasn’t as flashy, but he kept his lines crisp and his plating polished, and boy did he know how to use those doors to frame his face.

Primus, why was he thinking about Prowl applying his usual dedication and thoroughness in the berth and how long it would take to get that perfect finish back in tip-top shape after a good hard frag?

Okay, so maybe Jazz wouldn’t mind going a round or two with him, but that wasn’t what Prowl was after or he would have said something, right? Having a crush was different than lusting after someone, especially when that someone was Jazz and was known for having nooooo problems with lust. 

“I wish you hadn’t told me,” Jazz told Smokescreen the next time he saw him. “I can’t stop thinking about it now and it’s driving me crazy!”

“What’s driving you— ohh, you mean that crush Prowl totally doesn’t have on you?” Smokescreen laughed. “I told you!”

“You did and I hate you for it,” Jazz grumbled. “What am I supposed to do? I don’t want to hurt him.” 

“You won’t. He was more upset with me for saying anything to you, honestly.”

“He didn’t want me to know?” 

“He didn’t want you to feel awkward. He already knows you’re not into mechs like him. Look, just,” Smokescreen made a rolling gesture with his hand, “tell him it’s fine, no hard feelings and things can get back to normal.” 

“Right…” Back to normal was good. Back to normal was great.

Smokescreen noticed his hesitation. “Is something wrong?”

“What? Nah, everything’s fine.” He just needed to tell Prowl that Smokescreen was an idiot and that his crush didn’t bother him, he was just sorry he didn’t reciprocate. Because he didn’t.

Curiosity wasn’t the same as a crush.

“Jazz.”

“Hmm?”

“You’re staring at him.”

“I am not!” Jazz whipped back around.  _ Slag.  _ He  _ had  _ been. “I just wanted to see who’d come in.”

“You wanted to see who’d come in,” Smokescreen drawled, “through the door on the other side of the room?”

Jazz folded his arms on the table in front of him and hid his face. “Look, just, don’t say anything okay?”

“Oh, don’t worry. I think I’ve said more than enough.” Smokescreen patted his shoulder. “From here on out, you two are on your own.”

Jazz groaned.

What was he going to do now?


	11. Star-Crossed Lovers

It had started with their schedules.

After a first date so wonderful it could legitimately be described as magical, scheduling conflict after scheduling conflict forced them to postpone, reschedule or just plain cancel nearly every date they tried to set afterward. That could have been the end of it, but rather than deciding that their difficulties were the writing on the wall, Prowl and Jazz persevered with what they called determination and everyone else called stubbornness.

Everyone else was of the opinion they needed to learn when to quit and move on, but they were wrong.

As obstacles went, ignoring the friends and family who didn’t understand (or straight up didn’t approve) of their relationship was fairly easy. Prowl had never let what others thought of him dictate his choices, and Jazz had never let anyone’s nagging change his mind. Sometimes they weren’t in the mood to deal with the opposition gracefully, but they stood firm even on their worst days, refusing to bend.

They did very nearly break though, when Prowl’s boss threatened to hold him back or even fire him if he didn’t cut ties with Jazz. His career was too important to him for Jazz to be willing to jeopardize; he’d tried to back off, but Prowl had refused to be blackmailed and used the threats as motivation to pull internal affairs down on the entire force. 

That hadn’t endeared Jazz to any of his coworkers, but it had resulted in his boss getting arrested and Prowl getting promoted, allowing him more leeway with his schedule and solving several of their problems at once.

Then, of course, the war had started, and it was like being back at square one. 

Because of the differences in their experience and skill sets, Prowl’s posting wound up nowhere near Jazz’s. They both repeatedly put in for transfers, making cases to their commanders for how effective they would be at another, conveniently shared, location, but it was like Primus himself was out to get them. Any time they thought they were finally going to be posted together, something would come up to pull one or the other of them away again.

More and more Jazz got pulled out into the field, which added the lovely complication of being sent behind the lines while he was laid up with injuries into the mix at the same time Prowl was being moved closer and closer to the front. Their paths only crossed once in a blue moon when their units happened to be moving through the same place at the same time.

It was a running joke among the Autobots and even some Decepticon circles: Prowl and Jazz were doomed to be in love and never get to see each other.

“You know what? Maybe they’re right. Maybe we are cursed,” Jazz said on one of the vanishingly rare occasions they were able to meet face to face — or, more accurately in this case, face to bumper. Prowl was currently in alt mode, stuck waiting for his self-repair to finish restoring his T-Cog before he could transform. Jazz, meanwhile, had broken a major strut and was integrating repairs on several minor ones and was not to put any strain on them by transforming or driving.

“It is hard not to feel cursed sometimes,” Prowl agreed. He couldn’t reach out to hold Jazz’s hand, but he could and did expand his EM field to encompass them both. “That said, I would rather be cursed with you than to never have met you.”

Jazz smiled and sighed. “Me too.” He leaned against Prowl’s side and threw an arm over his roof. His hand came up to Prowl’s lightbar, which he stroked gently. “Still, would it kill anyone to give us just one break?”

“It has been killing people. How many have died so far in this war?”

“You’d know better than me. I’d say maybe that’s the key, just keep killing people until the war ends, but if we’re genuinely cursed we still won’t get to be together when it’s all over.”

Prowl snorted. “It’s a good thing curses aren’t actually real then.”

“Oh yeah? How do you know?”

“Because I refuse to accept it. I refuse to believe we aren’t meant to be and so do you.”

“Aww, you know me so well.”

“As you know me. So,” Prowl rocked on his tires as his field took on a playful note, “It may not be ideal, but we have this moment now. What do you want to do with it?”

“What we do best,” Jazz laughed, his hands beginning to wander. “Make the most of it.”


	12. Childhood Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: war, ethics in the aftermath of battle, Decepticon!Jazz

Was it a form of triage, walking the battlefield looking for enemy soldiers and deciding who to take prisoner and who to dispatch with mercy? The medics argued there was a distinction between prioritizing limited care and resources for patients and actively killing the mortally wounded, but it was still a weighing of resources and risks. It still meant deciding who lived and who died and carrying the weight of those decisions.

It wasn’t light, that weight. Prowl carried it with him every time he went out, afraid the day would come when it ceased to increase with each spark he took and he began terminating mechs who could have been saved because they were the enemy.

He knew it wasn’t this day at least. He’d shot three mechs already, all of them blown apart and bleeding out and utterly beyond saving, and had started whispering a prayer to Primus under his breath that he wouldn’t have to shoot the next one.

Unless there wasn’t another one. He found several grayed and graying frames, but none with illuminated biolights or optics.

_ “Southwest quadrant, check in.” _

_ “Three mechs found terminal, seven more deceased,”  _ Prowl reported. He was nearing the end of the sector now, but as he walked around the wreckage of a transport he spotted something.  _ “Possible survivor, I repeat: possible survivor found.”  _

Holding his rifle at the ready, Prowl moved closer. There was indeed a mech, a living mech, twisted up and pinned under the debris. He turned his head at the sound of Prowl’s footsteps, revealing a cracked blue visor. “Hey there,” he said, then spent a minute coughing. Prowl waited until he recovered, assessing him from a safe distance. “Is this th’part where ya shoot me?”

“Only if I have to,” and he really, really hoped he wouldn’t have to. “My preference is to bring you into custody.”

“Heh, I bet. Officer like you? Betcha carry cuffs on ya all the time.”

Prowl ignored the jab at his paint job. “Please state your name and rank.”

“That’d make your job easy, wouldn’t it?” 

“I’d take it as a kindness,” Prowl said dryly. The mech obviously wasn’t circling the Well so he relayed their coordinates, indicating he had a prisoner. “Name and rank.”

“Alright then,” the mech smirked. “Razzmatazz, peon second class at your service.”

“Razzmatazz.” He was clearly lying, trying to get under Prowl’s plating with the completely bogus rank, but it was the name that caught in his processor.  _ Razzmatazz…  _ “…and all that jazz,” he said slowly as the memory unarchived itself. “Jazz?”

Shock flashed across the mech’s visor. “Who are you?” he asked, all hints of snark evaporating. “Do I know you?”

“You were one of the older mechlings in Minder’s classroom at the Leaf House.” Prowl said, remembering. The youngling center was one of many he’d cycled through, underfunded, understaffed and overcrowded. His time there had been relatively short, only a few years, but in that time, “You looked out for me.”

“Okay, seriously, who are youuu~ohmygod wait a minute.  _ Prowl?!”  _

“You remember me.” Prowl couldn’t help smiling. “I never thought I’d see you again.”

“Are you kidding? You were my best friend in that dump, of course I remember you!” The mech — Jazz — struggled against the debris pinning him, trying to get free. Prowl brought his rifle up reflexively before catching himself and shouldering it so he could crouch down and hold Jazz still. “Hey, what are you doing?”

“Stopping you from hurting yourself for one thing.” That, and preventing him from escaping. He couldn’t afford to forget where they were now amidst the flood of childhood memories. “Are you still against me bringing you into custody?”

“Right. Custody.” Jazz stopped fighting him and lay still. “Why’d ya have to grow up into an Autobot?”

“Why did you grow up to be a Decepticon?” 

“That’s… kind of a long story.” The statement hung in silence between them for a moment. “Will you come and hear it if I come quietly to the brig?”

“Yes.” He shouldn’t be making promises to prisoners, but for once, out here where he’d been losing himself piece by piece, he’d found something instead. Prowl wasn’t going to lose this chance. “I’ll listen to yours if you’ll listen to mine?”

“Sounds fair to me. Scrap circumstances aside,” Jazz looked at him and Prowl wondered if he dared to hope, “it’s really great to see you again.”


	13. Flower Shop

_ Dinggg! _

“Hi, welcome to Pips!” Ooh, a new customer. Jazz gave the black and white Praxan who’d just walked in a wave and a friendly smile. “I’m Jazz; is there something I can help you with?”

“Do you carry genlisea violacea?” the mech asked, direct and to the point. “Or, failing that, utricularia aurea.”

“Um.” Jazz prided himself on how much he’d learned about crystals since starting this job, but he didn’t recognize either of those. “I can look them up for you in our system,” he offered, grabbing the cashier’s tablet and opening a search. “How do you spell them?”

“Genlisea violacea and utricularia aurea,” the mech repeated, breaking up the syllables and spelling out the ones Jazz struggled with. “More commonly known as bladderworts and corkscrew plants.”

Why hadn’t he led with that? “Yeah, okay, we definitely have the bladderworts,” Jazz said, leading the mech past the quartz displays and fluorite clusters. Carnivorous crystals weren’t exactly in high demand, but Lapidary liked to keep a variety of rare species in the shop regardless of how well they sold. “Here they are.”

“How old are they?”

“This one’s a new cutting,” Jazz gestured at a small wedge of predominantly green crystals, then to a pair of larger ones with more developed white tendrils, “and these have been established for a little over a year.” 

“I like the look of that one. It appears quite healthy.”

“The owner takes care of them personally.” Most of them were too fussy for Jazz to tend to yet. Maybe when he’d been established here for more than a year himself. “Let me see if we’ve got the other species you’re looking for while you take a look at those.”

“Thank you.”

Not very chatty, this one. That was alright though. Not everyone came in gushing about the mech of their dreams while they searched for the perfect arrangement to express their love, after all. Jazz liked the dedicated hobbyists, awkward as many of them were, and he liked helping them get what they needed for their home gardens. 

Unfortunately, “It doesn’t look like we’ve got the corkscrews in stock. I can place a special order for you if you’ve got your spark set on them though.”

The mech thought about that for a moment. “How much would that cost?”

“Just the cost of the crystal, but the larger colonizations aren’t cheap and cuttings of this species tend to suffer in transport.” According to the notes on his tablet, they were highly susceptible to temperature and humidity fluctuations until they reached a certain size.

“That’s fine. I haven’t been able to find anyone who could get them in at any size, and I’d prefer to have one that’s a bit more robust.”

“Great! I just need your name to get started.”

The mech’s name turned out to be Prowl, and he bought the established bladderwort in addition to placing the special order. Jazz made sure the crystal was carefully packaged so he could get it home safely and waved one more time as Prowl left, wondering how long it would take the corkscrew to arrive.

Prowl came in again before it did though, this time looking for an aldrovanda vesiculosa. They got into a conversation about setting up and maintaining paludariums that lasted over an hour, surprising Jazz with just how invested he got in the subject. Prowl really knew his stuff and it was fascinating to talk to him; so much so that Jazz dropped what he was doing to get to him before his coworker could when he came in again asking after sarracenia leucophylla. 

“He sure is in here a lot,” Cliffjumper said after Prowl left with his third drosera. 

“He’s not here  _ that  _ often.”

“At least once a week?”

“We’ve got plenty of weekly regulars.”

“Secretaries picking up short-blooms for the office aren’t the same as secluded weirdos slowly assembling an army of carnivorous crystals,” Cliffjumper countered. “At the rate he’s going it won’t be long before he’ll be able to dismember a mech and disappear the entire frame just by feeding the garden.”

“Geez, Cliff! Where did that come from?” Jazz laughed. “That’s completely ridiculous.”

“Oh really? Are you saying you wouldn’t be nervous if he invited you over for a meal?”

“No, I wouldn’t. Not that he’s going to.” Not that he would mind if he did. “Anyway, a carnivorous crystal garden would make a lousy disposal system for a serial killer: they’re slow eaters.”

Cliffjumper shook his head. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

“You started it.”  _ Dinnggg!  _ “And I’m ending it.” Jazz turned to the door. “Hi, welcome t— welcome back,” he said, confused. “Did you forget something?”

“Not exactly,” was all Prowl got out before Cliffjumper jumped in.

“Why do you keep buying all of those plants?” He fixed Prowl with a suspicious look. “I’ve got my optic on you!”

“O…kay?” Prowl looked between him and Jazz. “I just think they’re neat. Is something wrong with that?”

“No, there’s something wrong with Cliffjumper.” Jazz grabbed his arm and pushed him away. “Go on, leave him alone.”

Cliffjumper gave Prowl one more glare and mimed “watching you” before disappearing into the office.

“Sorry about that, I don’t know what’s gotten into him. So!” Jazz clapped his hands together. “What brings you back so soon?”

“I was wondering if you wanted to come over and feed my plants.”

Jazz froze. He stared at Prowl and Prowl stared back with a perfectly straight face.

Then his doors twitched.

“Oh my god!” Jazz burst out laughing. “You totally heard, didn’t you?” 

Prowl broke, his suppressed laughter giving way to a series of soft giggles. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist. I realized I’d left my datapad on environmental pH on the counter and overheard your conversation when I opened the door.”

“Which you then stood in like a lurker without ringing the bell. Not creepy at aaaaaall.” 

“Creepy wasn’t my intention, I assure you,” Prowl smiled.

“I believe you. Cliff probably won’t, but nevermind him.” Jazz scanned the counter and spotted the datapad. “Here,” he said, handing it back. “You’re all set.”

“Thank you. By the way, were you aware of the upcoming luminescent crystal exhibit?”

“An exhibit… at the museum?”

Prowl nodded. “It starts next week. I thought it might be of interest to you, given our discussions.” 

“Right! Yeah, thanks for thinking of me.” Jazz wanted to suggest they go together, but he was on the clock and didn’t want to risk making things awkward. “Maybe I’ll see you there?”

“Say hello if you do,” Prowl said, pausing on his way out. “I’ll look for you.”

“Me too. Have a good afternoon!” Jazz sat down behind the counter when he had gone, thinking. It wasn’t a date. They hadn’t even  _ picked  _ a date. If they met at the exhibit it would be pure coincidence.

Jazz didn’t think he’d mind if coincidence turned into a date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m blaming parts of this one on dragonofdispair. She knows which ones. Also sorry not sorry for the hodgepodge of terminology, I love the flowers = crystals thing for Transformers but I wasn’t going to come up with clever names for that many species of made up carnivorous crystals XD


	14. Social Media

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: sickfic, idek

“He’s so talented,” Prowl said, angling his tablet so the nurse could see the video. “Can you imagine playing an instrument while dancing like that?”

“Ah, is that Jazz again? How long has he been working on that?”

“Since last quartex.” Prowl and hundreds of thousands of others had been hanging on every update, oohing and ahhing over the music clips and test paint photos. This was the actual footage he’d posted of his latest routine, and it, he, was beautiful.

First Aid gave a low, impressed whistle when the video ended. “I can see why you like him. I bet he loves having a fan as dedicated as you.”

Prowl flushed, embarrassed. “He doesn’t even know who I am.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“It’s mathematically implausible.” Jazz had already had a large following when Prowl stumbled across his account, large enough that it wasn’t feasible for him to engage with every individual member in his community. There were only so many joors in a cycle, only so much time and energy he had to spare after everything he poured into his art. Prowl was a huge fan, yes, but he wasn’t going to fault Jazz for being limited by mortal constraints. 

Even if he danced and played like a god.

First Aid chuckled. “You never know. Implausible isn’t the same as impossible.”

“I’m aware. I’m also aware that even if he did know who I was, I’ll never be able to meet him in person.” Not when he was in and out of hospitals all the time for his processor glitch, and especially not when large crowds and loud noises were known triggers for said glitch. “Even if I could afford a backstage pass to one of his concerts I wouldn’t be able to attend.”

“Maybe you just need a private concert then.”

That got an outright laugh from Prowl. “Do you want to know the statistical likelihood of that happening? If you thought the odds of him knowing who I am were bad, do I have some news for you.”

“Actually…” 

No. That voice. Prowl  _ knew  _ that voice! He jolted upright, turning so fast he knocked his elbow against First Aid. The nurse took it in stride, laying a steadying hand on his shoulder.

“…I think I have some news for you.” 

Prowl couldn’t believe it. “Jazz?” he whispered, willing the first warning twinges in his processor to  _ go away!  _ “Is it— Are you— How?”

“I asked him. Well, I asked a friend of a friend of mine to ask him,” First Aid said. 

“Which they did,” Jazz picked up smoothly, “and here I am.”

“But you’re supposed to be in Hydrax,” Prowl protested, silently grateful to First Aid for dimming the lights as he fought to forestall an episode. “You posted pictures from the transit over the Manganese Mountains this morning.”

Jazz chuckled. “I’m on my  _ way  _ to Hydrax, just not on a direct flight. Should’ve known you’d see the pictures.”

Oh no, he probably sounded creepy. “I’m not a stalker, I promise,” Prowl blurted out, then cringed and turned in towards First Aid like he could use him as a shield. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, it’s okay, we’re okay. I shouldn’t have surprised you.” Prowl heard Jazz cross the room and stop right beside his berth. “Would it be alright if I held your hand?”

Maybe he was already in the grips of a crash; what other explanation was there for Jazz being here and wanting to hold hand? But just in case he wasn’t… Not trusting his vocalizer, Prowl nodded. 

Hands that were warm and solid appeared around his own. It was real! Prowl looked down and saw the same silver fingers that so deftly plucked the strings of his violino pressing gently into his plating, massaging his hand in a way that was surprisingly relaxing. “Can we start over?” 

Starting over. Yes; the questions and confusion that had been building to the point of pain receded and Prowl was able to regain some clarity and composure. “I would like that,” he said carefully. “I apologize for taking your time.”

“You’re not taking, I’m giving.” Jazz smiled, still massaging Prowl’s hand. “I’ve got an overnight layover and nothing planned until I get into Hydrax tomorrow. You’re not imposing on my time.”

“I’m not sure that I’m worth your time.”

“I’m sure. I heard you say you didn’t think I knew who you were, but I do. You,” Jazz reached into his subspace and pulled out a datapad, “are the mech who writes these in-depth analyses and critiques of my routines.”

Sure enough, there on the screen when Jazz illuminated it was one of Prowl’s essays. “You know about those?” The personal writing blog he posted them to had under a hundred followers and hardly any hits!

“Know about ‘em? I’ve read every one of ‘em. Can’t say I agree with all of it though, particularly your conclusion about  _ Laya’s Temple.  _ I didn’t base it on a real place at all, which kind of undermines your whole allegory theory.”

“Not necessarily. What you intended to convey and what your audience takes away from any given performance won’t always be the same.”

“If I say there’s no allegory, there’s no allegory.”

“Only if your audience knows you’ve said it.” Prowl was no longer leaning on First Aid, warming to his subject regardless of how surreal it was to be having it with Jazz himself. “They might still see an allegory even if they do know. Is their interpretation invalid because you didn’t plan for it?”

“Of course not, but you concluded the pairing of orange overtones with the descending chromatic scale was meant to evoke the sun setting on the Primal Palace.” Over Jazz’s shoulder, First Aid waved as he slipped out the door. “It one hundred percent was not.”

“And if I see the sunset over the Primal Palace in it?”

“Then you see the sunset over the Primal Palace, but I didn’t put it there, and you can’t argue that recognizing it is integral to understanding the piece as a whole while also acknowledging the allegory is entirely subjective on the part of the observer.” 

“That’s true,” Prowl admitted. “There is a logical fallacy inherent in that analysis, which I’ve actually discussed at length with one… of…” The brightening of his optics was visible on Jazz’s plating in the low light. “You’re one of my followers.  _ Mine.” _

“Yu~p!” Jazz grinned, but it was shy as well as amused. “Hope you’re not offended I didn’t tell you who I was before.”

Offended? Sweet Primus, why would he be offended? “I’m glad you didn’t. I mean, I’m glad you’re telling me now, I’m glad to know now, but if I’d known before,” Prowl paused and focused on his vents, consciously cycling cool air all the way into his engine. “If I’d known before, I’m not sure I would have been as frank in our communications.”

“Yeah, that’s part of what stopped me from blowing my cover. I didn’t want how you talked to me to change. I wanted us to be friends.”

Prowl looked again at their hands, his lying in Jazz’s, and threaded their fingers together. “I think,” somehow, unexpectedly, “we are.”


	15. Mythical Creatures

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: posted in the end note so people can be surprised if they want

The sight of another mech wearing official decals parked outside the warehouse was a surprise. Prowl pinged for his ident as he drove up and addressed him. “Hello, officer Jazz. I was unaware that animal control had been called in.”

“Can’t say I was expectin’ you either, officer Prowl. We even here on the same call?”

“I’m not sure.” The question wasn’t territorial, which was a good sign if they were both here for the same reason. Arguing jurisdiction wasn’t something Prowl enjoyed. “Are you responding to a call from one Exigence of Iacon?”

“That’s the one.” The other officer transformed, unfolding from what turned out to be a highly compact alt mode. Prowl only came up to his shoulders when he followed suit and had to look up to meet his visor. “He said there’s some sorta infestation in the back of the warehouse.”

“He said there were ‘intruders’ when he called us.” Prowl looked at the warehouse and frowned. “It sounds like he doesn’t actually know what he’s dealing with.”

“Which means we don’t know what we’re dealing with either. Lovely.” Jazz sighed, then vigorously stretched his arms and shook out his hands. “Guess there’s only one way t’find out!”

“We can’t just go in blind,” Prowl protested, jogging after Jazz as he strode purposefully toward the entrance to the warehouse. “Or enter the premises without speaking to Exigence.” 

“Maybe he’s already in there.”

“I sincerely doubt it.” Whatever was in there, Exigence wanted someone else, anyone else, to deal with it for him. “Jazz, stop.”

“No can do — I’m respondin’ to exigent circumstances. Heh. Exigence, exigent.”

Prowl spluttered while Jazz snickered at his own joke, at a loss for a way to dissuade him from going in. It was either leave him to face a potentially dangerous situation alone while he went looking for Exigence or go in with him.

He made his decision by the time they reached the door. When Jazz turned and asked, “You with me on this?” Prowl said yes.

The inside of the warehouse was dim and dusty and filled with isolated islands of boxes and pallets. Prowl looked around while his optics adjusted to the low lighting, noting the placement of the emergency exits and potential cover spots.

“Hey.” Jazz tapped his shoulder for his attention and pointed. “Hear that?”

Prowl fanned his doors and listened. It was faint, undetectable to his sensors over the echo of their own footsteps, but now that they were standing still he could hear a soft, scritching, scuttling sound. He glanced up at Jazz, mouthing, “What is it?”

Taking his cue for silence, Jazz simply shrugged and pointed again, this time indicating they head toward the whatever-it-was from opposite directions. Prowl wanted to protest that they were hardly going to be able to sneak up on it in this echo chamber, but Jazz was already moving before he could figure out how to get his point across, at which point his objections were rendered moot. 

Scowling, Prowl set off to be the distraction while Jazz crept out of sight without making any noise at all.

He was able to hear the scuttling more clearly as he drew closer. Although it sounded like something (or several somethings) moving around, it wasn’t actually moving from the corner of the warehouse. It also didn’t respond to the noise he was making, all the way up until there was only a single stack of pallets between them. Then it went suddenly, eerily silent.

Prowl took a moment to brace himself, then rounded the corner. “Freeze,” he commanded, presenting a figure of authority to… to… 

“What  _ are  _ they?” Jazz asked, staring equally dumbfounded at the lone box and its contents. “I’ve never seen anything like ‘em.”

“Neither have I.” There were three of them — at least, Prowl thought there were three of them — huddled together into one mass of legs and feelers. There was something vaguely insectoid about them, but apart from that he had no idea where to even begin. “Wait, what are you doing?”

“Saying hello, duh.” Jazz reached into the box, offering his hand to the bizarre creatures. The feelers all bent to touch him and he giggled. “Heh, that tickles.”

Prowl stayed right where he was. “You shouldn’t be doing that, they could be dangerous.”

“Oh come on, what could th— hey!” One of them detached from the others, scuttling up Jazz’s arm at lightning speed. Both mechs flinched, but it stopped when it reached Jazz’s shoulder where it pulled in its little limbs and curled up into a tiny segmented semisphere. “Little guy’s hangin’ on with magnets,” Jazz said with surprise. “Strong ones too.”

“Can you get it off?”

“Maybe? Dunno if I could dislodge him without hurting him.” Before Prowl could stop him, Jazz had reached back into the box and tapped one of the others. They split apart and scrambled up the same as the first, stopping as soon as they found a flat expanse of plating to attach themselves to. “There we go! Let’s get you guys outta here.”

“You’re going to transport them without containment?” What were they even doing over in animal control? 

“Relax, they’ll be contained once I transform. I’ll take it from here, you can go ahead and let your dispatcher know it was a false alarm.”

Torn between not wanting to leave Jazz on his own and not wanting anything more to do with the strange things, one of them made the decision for him by popping up and running down Jazz’s arm when he waved Prowl away, leaping through the air with a buzz of tiny wings to land on him with a solid  _ thunk! _

“Get it off!” Prowl pushed at it, trying to knock it loose, but only succeeded in transferring it from his bumper to his arm. There it collapsed back into a semisphere, the edges of its shell magnetically sealed against Prowl’s plating. Waving his arm did nothing, it refused to be moved.

“Here, let me—”

“Don’t get the rest of them on me!”

But the others remained on Jazz, even as the one on his arm remained in place despite Jazz’s efforts to coax it to let go. Eventually he gave up, standing back with a sigh. “Sorry Prowl. I think we’re stuck with them.”

“Not for long,” Prowl said firmly. “Come on, let’s go.” 

“Go where?”

“Back to your office.” 

The sooner they got rid of them, the better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WoC on Netflix has so many problems but TinyProwl is <3 Anyway, mythical creatures! This one turned into a case of too many options making it impossible for me to pick something and narrow in on an idea, so in the end the mythical creatures are (though Prowl and Jazz don’t realize this yet) *gasp* sparklings! Because baby bug Transformer bitlets are adorable and this batch totally just adopted Jazz and Prowl to be their parents ;)


	16. Magic

“Well, well, well.” Jazz crossed his arms and smirked. “At long last, the great Prowl graces my presence.”

Prowl frowned. “If you’re going to make a big deal out of this, I’ll leave.”

“And who does that actually hurt? You came to me for a reason. You leave, you leave without what you came for.” Jazz was tempted to make sure he left empty-handed regardless, but Prowl wasn’t actually here for himself. He sashayed over to his consult table and patted the guest chair pointedly before taking the other. “What’s this about?”

“Shouldn’t you already know?”

“Do you already know what a case is about before your computer has a chance to load the file and you can read it?”

“Yes.”

“Ri~ight.” No need to tap into the arcane forces to know Prowl was a weirdo; station gossip took care of that one. “Well, I don’t just ‘know’ things instantly. I have to ask first.”

“Is that what you’re doing now?”

“Yes. I’m asking  _ you.  _ Usually people are faster to talk to than the aether, but if all you’re going to give me is sass…”

Prowl glared, but begrudgingly took a seat. “The case I’m on has hit a dead end. I know the disappearances are tied to the New Institute but I don’t have anything I can leverage to pursue the investigation. The captain has given me until the end of the week to bring him something substantive or he’s reassigning me.”

“Aaaand let me guess, he told you this almost precisely one week ago.”

“I have two hours. So please,” Prowl bit out between clenched teeth, as though saying the word physically pained him, “can you help me or not?”

“Maybe.” Two hours might not be enough time for the spell to work the way Prowl needed it to. “I can’t make any guarantees.”

“You can try.”

“Why should I?”

“Why should you? Why  _ shouldn’t  _ you? You provide magical assistance to every other detective who comes to you!”

“Because they take what I say seriously. You don’t.” Jazz stood up and turned his back, eyeing his cabinet of spell components. He was going to have to supercharge this thing if it was going to have any chance of success. Probably get a massive headache from overextending himself too, not that Prowl would appreciate it. “I’m not a charlatan you know.”

“You’re not the infallible seer everyone thinks you are either.” 

“Okay look.” Jazz met Prowl’s optics in the mirrored back of the cabinet and held them. “Magic doesn’t always reveal anything relevant or even factual and I’ve never made a secret of it. Your fellow detectives really ought to take what I give them with a grain of salt, but it’s not my fault if they don’t. That said!” He held up a hand and flashed his visor when Prowl opened his mouth. “That said, if you treat everything I say as slag then you’re still treating me as a prophet, just in reverse. That’s dangerous, Prowl.”

“In what scenario?”

“I don’t know, I wasn’t thinking of specifics.” Opening the cabinet, Jazz began removing what he needed. The glass bottles clinked against each other in his arms. “Say I see an ambush or a doublecross. That’s not something you should be thinking can’t happen because I saw it.”

In the mirror, Prowl bowed his head. “This is why I don’t like to rely on magic. It can’t, by its very nature, be reliable.”

“Seriously? That’s what your problem actually is?” Jazz turned back around to look at him. “That’s not at all what your reputation says.”

“Dare I ask what it does say?”

They were down to an hour fifty if Prowl’s two hours had started when he walked in. “Maybe another time,” Jazz said, arranging his components in front of him. Prowl’s problem with magic was a subject he found himself bizarrely interested in, but again, he didn’t need magic to know that conversation would turn into an argument before it got anywhere. “You’re only here out of desperation, but that doesn’t matter if it helps you bring the criminals to justice.”

“I only need something to get the captain off my back.”

“Call it professionalism, but I’m still going to put in my best effort here. I’d take it as a kindness,” Jazz looked across the table, “if you’d at least consider the merit of whatever I’m able to give you.”

“So that I’ll come back for another consult?”

“Mech, I don’t care if I never see you in the metal again. This consult isn’t for you.” Pouring out the first of several crystal sands, Jazz pulled in his focus and redirected his sight. Hidden beneath his armor, his spark crystal spiraled open, creating a pathway for the energies to flow into and through him. “It’s for the victims.”

Understanding glowed around Prowl, speckled through with the beginnings of respect as Jazz cast his gaze beyond him and into the city.


	17. Masquerade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: return of the idiots in love, kissing robots. Continuation of [Secret Dating](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25661503/chapters/62653768).

The problem with fragging someone in disguise was it was kind of difficult to go for an actual relationship if feelings started to creep in. Jazz was having precisely that problem now with Barricade. The dark colored Praxan knew him as Meister, a Neutral commstech who spent whatever time he wasn’t cooped up in server rooms fiddling with wires partying it up until he passed out. A fun time, to be sure, but not exactly relationship material even if it didn’t leave out, oh, only all of Jazz’s responsibilities as an Autobot and his dedication to the cause. 

Listing off the facts didn’t stop Jazz from wanting though. He still had his hopeless crush on Prowl, but now he had one on Barricade too. Was there any chance he’d be interested in Meister as more than an easy frag? And, if he was, was there any chance he’d still be interested in the real Jazz if he told him the truth?

Maybe he’d find it funny and take it in stride. Barricade had a wicked sense of humor, dry and sarcastic as it often was. He’d been amused from the start that they’d started out as substitute frags, which was potentially a good sign but also potentially a problem. What if Barricade’s hopeless crush suddenly panned out? Jazz didn’t know anything about the mech, apart from the fact that he looked like him. Was he any sort of competition when it came to personality?

“Enough,” Jazz told the mirror, willing his thoughts to stop spinning. The only mechs who were going to see him as Meister tonight were his fellow Autobots. It felt like a cheat, using an established disguise for the masquerade party, but there hadn’t been enough time to come up with something brand new and, of all his profiles, Meister was the least likely to be recognized for what he was and the easiest to replace if he had to.

With one last check to make sure everything was right, Jazz turned off the lights and got underway. Practically every ‘Bot in Iacon was going to be at this shindig and he didn’t want to be late.

.

.

.

Prowl really didn’t want to be at this party. There would be thousands of mechs in the hall they’d rented out by the time everyone arrived, talking and drinking and Primus knew what else. There were only a handful of contexts in which Prowl enjoyed that sort of recreation, and putting on a disguise and mingling with drunken colleagues wasn’t one of them. 

Honestly, if he had to spend the night in an atmosphere like this, he’d rather be out in the city with Meister. The bars and dance clubs they met at were a lot smaller than this, making them much more manageable, and he’d have better company. Meister had an infectious energy about him that made everything around him more enjoyable and Prowl was sorely missing it already. 

It didn’t help that it was Barricade he saw in the glass whenever he passed a window. He hadn’t bothered to plan anything else, focusing his energies instead on getting exempted from his invitation, but Optimus had come down on the command staff and insisted on their attendance. 

Of course, now that he already looked the part, maybe he could sneak out early and see if Meister was available? He needed to see him, to admit to at least one of the secrets he’d been keeping. The odds of it happening were small, but Prowl still wanted to tell Meister he was an Autobot before he heard through the grapevine that Barricade had been at the Autobot gala. He’d already been thinking about telling him, only putting it off because he was afraid it would spell the end of their association and Prowl didn’t want it to end.

Quite the opposite, actually.

Prowl swung by one of the catering tables and grabbed a cube of high grade, not ashamed to lean on the liquid courage. It was silly to feel like he was betraying Jazz by falling for Meister. That would require Jazz reciprocating his feelings, which he didn’t even know about because Prowl hadn’t told him because he wouldn’t return them. He was far from confident that Meister would accept him when he finally came out with the truth, but he had more of a chance with him than he did with Jazz and, well… he really liked Meister too.

Primus. One cube was not going to be enough.

.

.

.

“You are a  _ fantastic  _ dancer,” Jazz’s latest dance partner purred in his audio. The mech, who Jazz was pretty sure was Fireflight beneath the neon paint and a different helmet, was running even hotter than Jazz after that last song. “What would you say to a private dance?”

“Maybe later,” Jazz said, slipping away with a flirty wave. He wasn’t quite ready to duck out for a quickie, though he could definitely do with a shot of coolant. He spent the next song sashaying his way off the dance floor, escaping into the hall as it ended to a resounding round of applause.

There were plenty of mechs in the next room too, standing in clusters around standing tables to talk while the fueled. Jazz called hellos to several of them on his way to the buffet, debating which one to join once he had his coolant, but then—

He spotted black and white doors bobbing through the crowd a short distance away, fanned out behind familiar purple shoulders.

“‘Cade?!” 

The mech stopped in his tracks and turned a shocked expression on Jazz. “Meister?!”

Screw the coolant. Jazz made a beeline for Barricade and grabbed his arm. “What are you  _ doing  _ here, mech?”

“I could ask you the same,” Barricade replied, glancing down at Jazz’s hands on him. “Can I help you with something?”

“Always.” Jazz pulled Barricade in for an elated kiss. If he was here, he had to be an Autobot too! “Wow, what’ve you been drinking?” He licked his lips as they broke apart. “You taste amazing.”

“Kalisian solar.” Barricade’s plating was cool but the brightness of his optics spoke to the number of cubes he must have had. “Why are you here?”

“Same reason as you, I’m hoping. Really, really hoping. Wanna find somewhere we can,”  _ frag,  _ “talk?”

Barricade’s optics raked over his frame appreciatively. “I think I know a place that will serve our needs.”

A scattering of catcalls and whistles followed them out. Jazz ignored them. 

Barricade led them into a small room some distance down the hall. Jazz let out a sharp gasp when he whirled and pushed him up against the door, pinning him in place with hands and lips. “Fraaaaag.”

“We’ll get to that,” Barricade teased, kissing up the side of Jazz’s helm to his audio horn while his hands traced down his sides. “I thought you wanted to talk?”

“How’m I supposed to do that while you’re doin’ that?”

“You can always ask me to stop.”

Jazz groaned. Stopping was the last thing he wanted Barricade to do, but there was one thing he had to get out before they kept going. “Are you angry with me?”

“Why would I be angry with you?”

“Because I didn’t tell you the truth.”

“No, you didn’t.” Barricade didn’t let him go, but he did stop what he was doing to pull back and look Jazz in the face. “But you’re not the only one who lied.”

.

.

.

“But you’re not the only one who lied.” There, he’d said it. He’d admitted that he’d lied and Meister hadn’t immediately run away. Prowl steeled himself and continued. “I didn’t expect who I really was to matter. Not when even designations were unnecessary in the beginning.”

“Right?” Meister chuckled and raised a hand to Prowl’s face, cupping his cheek. “You were supposed to be a distraction, not a commitment.”

A commitment. Prowl was one hundred percent going to blame the high grade for the way that single word tripped his fans. “Is that what you want? Because I do. I really, really like you, Meister.”

“I— Primus, I like you too, but— ‘Cade, me bein’ an Autobot’s only one of the things I didn’t tell you.”

“Technically you haven’t even told me that. I can assume it based on your presence here, but…” Prowl stepped back, shaking his head. How could he have been so stupid? This was a masquerade party. If Meister was here, then “Meister” couldn’t be any more real than “Barricade”. 

“Hey, are you okay?”

“What? Oh.” Prowl hadn’t realized he was laughing. “I’m sorry, it’s just that I’ve been wondering how to broach the subject of a relationship with you without offending you for operating under an alias for so long when we’ve been doing the exact same thing.”

“Operating under— waaaait, how long have you known my name wasn’t Meister?” 

“Less than a minute.” Prowl was relieved when Meister’s plating settled back down. “I would not have realized before tonight, nor after if I hadn’t seen you here. It’s the costumes,” he said, gesturing to himself and frowning at his colors. “We really are overdue for proper introductions.”

“Really?” There was hope — that was hope, right? — in Meister’s visor as he spoke. “Promise you won’t run off?”

“I won’t if you won’t.” If he wasn’t so overcharged, Prowl would have already narrowed down the possibilities for Meister’s true identity.

They shared a look.

“You go first.” “You go first.”

“No you go first.” “No you go first.”

This time Meister laughed while Prowl groaned. “On three?” he suggested.

“On three,” Prowl agreed. Primus, he couldn’t believe he was this nervous. At least he wasn’t alone. “One?”

“Two.”

“Three.” “Three.”

“The name’s Jazz.”

“My real name is Prowl.

… 

Impossible.

_ Impossible! _

If Prowl hadn’t been busy crashing, Jazz fainting from sheer surprise would have been quite the sight to see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Those poor, poor idiots XD
> 
> Continues in [Dance](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25661503/chapters/63420232).


	18. Bookstore

Jazz loved looking for the little shops sandwiched between larger stores and tucked away on the side streets. It didn’t matter what they sold: goodies, jewelry, craft supplies, Jazz looked at it all and he always bought something. He’d found some real treasures on his little excursions, and he was looking forward to adding to his collection today.

The bookstore Trailbreaker had told him about was almost invisible from the street. There was a sign over the door indicating what it was, but the windows on either side of it belonged to other stores. The doorway opened onto a utilitarian hallway that led to a flight of stairs with another sign confirming the store was at the bottom, a wise choice in Jazz’s opinion. 

Skipping lightly down the steps, Jazz smiled at what he saw. The door to the shop was old-timey and ornate, propped open with an inviting placard written in elegant calligraphy:  _ Welcome to Chrysalis. Here you will find words to delight you and ideas to inspire you. Come inside and let us help your thoughts grow wings. _

“Hello?”

“Hello. Please, come in,” a pleasant voice replied. “I’m behind the desk at the moment, just around the shelves to your left.”

“No problem.” Jazz walked in and turned the corner, spotting the desk and the mech behind it easily. The clean, modern lines of his black and white paint job were a stark contrast to the warm, worn opulence of the desk, but somehow he didn’t look out of place. “Nice to meet you.”

“And you. I’m Prowl, and this,” Prowl gestured to the crowded rows of shelves, “is the largest collection of non-electronic literature in the city.”

“Oooh, you specialize in non-electronic books?” The first shelves he’d passed had been full of bound flimsy tomes and books and scrolls of other materials, but now he saw that  _ all  _ the shelves held the same. “That’s awesome!”

“It’s a niche market.” Prowl’s smile was a shade self-deprecating, but Jazz could see he was proud of the place. “What brings you here today?”

“A search for the underappreciated,” Jazz said, walking up to lean against the desk. “So tell me. What hidden treasures do you have hiding among these shelves?”

“That depends.” Looking at Prowl standing there, all quietly excited to have someone to talk to, Jazz wondered if maybe the best treasure wasn’t on the shelves, but rather behind the desk. “How much time have you got?”

Jazz smiled his most winning smile. “For you? I got all day.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I saw this prompt I really wanted to use the line “You are an open book written for very dumb children” somehow but it just wasn’t working, so here, have it in a tonally incongruent note instead lol (P.S. watch The Umbrella Academy)


	19. Soulmate

The proximity of your soulmate’s spark was what turned on the colors. Everyone learned that from the beginning, taught by their mentors to pay attention for that special shift that let you know you’d found the one.

Jazz didn’t get it though. How were you supposed to know when you could see colors? What did they look like? How would he recognize them? Looking at color books didn’t help and every adult he asked said the same thing: that he’d just  _ know.  _ Hardly a satisfactory answer!

Then one of his friends found their soulmate and something weird happened.

As a game, Skybite told them to pick things that looked the same so he could tell them what colors they really were, but while everyone else was able to pick plenty of things that looked the same but weren’t, everything Jazz picked that looked the same really were, according to Skybite, the same. The others accused him of cheating and let it go at that, but later that day Skybite caught up with him alone.

“Why didn’t you tell us you’d already found your soulmate?” 

“Because I haven’t found him yet?” Why did Skybite think he had? “Seriously, I wouldn’t keep something like that a secret.

“But you can see colors!”

What? “No I can’t.”

“Yes you can! And you never said anything about it.” Now he sounded hurt. “I thought I was the first in our batch but I’m not.”

“Yes you are. Skybite, I mean it, if the world had suddenly gone different all around me in some magical way I’d’ve said something, but this,” Jazz waved his hand at the room they were in, “looks the same as it always has.”

Skybite looked skeptical. “Tell me something,” he said, pointing to the door they’d just come through. “What color is that?”

“The color books call it ‘green’,” Jazz answered. “What of it?”

“What about the other doors, are they green too?”

“Not all of them.” The ones in this section of the building were, but, “The ones to our rooms are ‘blue’.”

“Which proves my point! The doors were all the same before I met my soulmate, Jazz. They only looked different once I could see the colors.”

No. No, that was impossible. “They’ve always looked different,” Jazz said, trying to make sense of what Skybite was saying. “The doors have always looked different to me.”

“Then you’ve always seen in color. But that can’t be right,” Skybite frowned. “Nobody comes online seeing in color.”

“Yeah, you’re right, it’s got to be something else. I’ll look into it and let you know, how’s that? You’ll be the first to know,” Jazz promised. 

Mollified, Skybite let the subject drop and started gushing about his soulmate again. Jazz only listened with half an ear, the rest of his attention caught up in the idea that maybe he had always been able to see in color. Barring some freak accident of the universe, that had to mean his soulmate had been there on his creation date, didn’t it? So who was it, and how was he going to figure it out?

He had no idea that, across the complex, one of the priests had been trying to figure out which of the dozens of sparks he’d helped to call from Vector Sigma had been the one to bring the colors with it.


	20. Fairytale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warning: near drowning (no death!)

“Hey! Mech!”

Someone was shouting behind him, but Jazz paid it no mind. He was busy watching a sparrowhawk lofting from rooftop to rooftop overhead.

“Oi, can you hear me?”

The bird was so adept in the air. Every wing flap and tail flick was precisely calculated, maneuvering the bird across the sky with such effortless grace it was like gravity didn’t even touch it.

“Hey you, white and black! I’m talking to you, head in the clouds!”

White and black? Jazz finally tore his attention away from the sky and turned around until he saw the speaker. “Me?” he asked, pointing to himself. 

“Yeah, you! You should pay more attention to what’s going on around you down here,” the mech said with a disapproving frown. “The signal was against you when you crossed the street back there. You’re lucky you weren’t run over.”

Oops. “Probably shouldn’t be relying on luck for something like that, huh? Thank you,” Jazz said. “I’ll be more careful.”

“I hope so.” Mollified, the mech relaxed and glanced up at the sky. “You were completely transfixed by whatever was up there. Maybe you should have been a flight frame.”

Jazz chuckled politely. “Maybe. Anyway, thanks again,” he said before making his escape. He’d heard that statement/question/joke before more times than he could count and he was tired of it. He was perfectly happy with his tires! There was more to the sky than wishing to fly, but no one ever understood. They were too busy telling him to stop gawking at the clouds and pay attention to his feet.

_ Ker-blam!  _

Jazz tumbled forward, tucking to roll as he fell over the knee-high turbodog he’d just walked smack into. The dog whined and shied, fumbling its footing too before regaining its balance. It looked at Jazz with injured optics, which was honestly far worse than having some rando on the street call him out for missing a stoplight.

“I’m sorry,” Jazz said, reaching out a hand to the dog. “I didn’t run into you on purpose, I just didn’t see you. Please forgive me?”

Luckily, Jazz was able to make his apologies in pets and was readily forgiven with plenty of licks and tail wagging.

“See you ‘round, buddy,” Jazz said when the dog moved on, trotting its way along the side of the road. Getting back to his feet, Jazz did the same in the opposite direction, heading for the riverwalk.

He liked coming down here. The river cooled the air and channeled the occasional breeze along the canal, both of which were a relief in the midday sun. There were also, along this section of the river, at least, all sorts of native plants and wildlife left to grow relatively unchecked. Watching the birds and the bugs and listening to their calls was relaxing and sometimes inspiring. Jazz pulled out a sketchpad so he could jot his thoughts down as they came to him.

Oh! There! Out on the surface of the water was one of the biggest dragonflies he had ever seen. It had a bright blue body, marked with metallic flecks that glinted in the sun, and Jazz chased after it when it took off before he could finish drawing it. 

_ Zip!  _

The dragonfly darted across the river, bobbing above a cluster of milkweed plants.

_ Zip! _

Then it zigzagged back to the near shore, following the edge of the riverwalk and then Jazz’s frame up until it was at optic height, lazily hovering around his head.

_ Zip! _

And there it went again, toward the overhead bridge! Jazz kept his optics on it, walking at a fast clip so he wouldn’t lose—

_ Splash! _

Startled, Jazz flailed his arms as his momentum carried him several additional steps out into the river. A school of fish scattered in his wake, breaking up and swimming away from him in every direction like the ripples he was sending across the water’s surface.

The river quickly flooded his engine. Jazz choked, gasping for air as he struggled to get back to shore.

“Hey! You there!”

This time Jazz looked toward the calling voice immediately and saw a black and white policemech standing on the riverwalk. He had a coil of rope in one hand that he held onto as he threw the life preserver on the other end of it out to Jazz. 

It took some doing, but the mech was stronger than he looked. All Jazz could do was cling to the life preserver and cough, but the policemech managed to tow him to safety and pull him up out of the water to collapse at his feet. 

Water streamed out from the gaps in Jazz’s plating, carrying a couple of unlucky fish back to freedom. Jazz looked up through the rivulets running down his visor feeling an absolute fool. “T-thanks,” he said as soon as the coughs subsided. “You saved me.”

“I’m glad I was nearby. This section of the river is particularly dangerous to fall into thanks to the plant and wildlife. Mechs can become waterlogged and sink very quickly.”

“You’re telling me.” That had been absolutely terrifying. His shaking was as much from the unexpected exertion as from the horror of realizing how close he’d come to dying, and all for a freaking dragonfly. “Oh!”

“What’s wrong?”

“My sketchbook. I dropped it when I fell in.”

The policemech turned and looked out over the water. “Is that it down there?” he asked, pointing to the book-like object slowly floating away downstream.

Jazz sighed. “Probably. Guess I won’t be getting that back.”

“Better to lose a book than your life. You know,” he paused, and Jazz bit back a groan at what he knew was coming, “you really shouldn’t run with your head in the clouds.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Struwwelpeter is totally like a fairytale, right? :p


	21. Circus

The noise from the room spilled out into the hallway, echoing down the corridor where Prowl had just arrived. He winced at the sounds of chaos, but at the same time took it as a sign that this was truly where he was needed most.

With the noise being the first thing he noticed, the disorganization was the second thing to hit Prowl as he entered the command center. Individual workstations had been pushed together to create islands overflowing with datapads, maps and all kinds of other office detritus that obstructed movement throughout the room due to their placement. The random stacks of boxes didn’t help there, many of them looking rather unstable as though they had been built up over time by people just putting things wherever there was room in the moment and never coming back to them. 

If it weren’t for the display screens taking up the bulk of one wall, Prowl was sure it too would be covered in diagrams, memos, outdated updates and unprofessional junk just like the other three.

Of the twelve mechs in the room when he walked in, only two of them stopped what they were doing to come over and greet him. “Hi,” the black and white Polyhexian said over the din of the others. “Are you the new officer they transferred over from Nova Cronum?”

“Second lieutenant Prowl, yes. With whom am I speaking?”

“Ah, my bad! Warrant officer Jazz,” the mech said with a pitiful sketch of a salute. His companion, who introduced himself as Private Bootless, didn’t bother himself with even that much. “Welcome to the fun house!”

“It does resemble a circus in here,” Prowl had to admit. “Am I correct in presuming you are its ringleader?”

“Not now that you’re here, thank Primus. I am more than happy to hand the hat off to you.” Jazz mimed doing just that, undeterred by Prowl’s frown at his continued unprofessional behavior. “I know my strengths. Getting mechs moving I can do, but I’m not so good at steering ‘em once they get up to speed.”

“I have to say I agree if this state of affairs is the result of your driving.” Prowl could hear the other personnel competing on four separate projects in the background. Apparently there wasn’t a single project that didn’t share at least one mech with another, resulting in split focus across the room.

“It was worse before he got here,” Bootless said bluntly. “This department’s really had it rough since we lost Bigwig.”

“So I’ve been told.” Their performance had dropped off so sharply that any other unit would have been looking at decommissioning, but this sector simply couldn’t afford to lose their entire strategy contingent. “This place is in sore need of discipline and direction.”

“Can’t argue with that.”

“Starting with you.” 

“What?!”

“You’ve been running this show,” Prowl waved at the pandemonium surrounding them. “I expect you to continue leading by example.”

“As your second in command?”

“As the next ranking officer in this department!”

“Sir, yes sir!” This time his salute was picture perfect, the first real show of respect and acknowledgement of his authority Prowl had seen since his arrival. He wasn’t surprised when it slipped quickly though, and Jazz broke into a grin. “We’re gonna be great together.”

Primus. This was going to be a long commission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh, that adorable innocence Prowl has before Jazz creeps his way into every aspect of his life until he can't imagine life without him <3


	22. Disney

Jazz stood on the docks practically vibrating with excitement. It was happening. It was really happening! The ship was loaded, the crew was assembled, and they were finally ready to set off in search of the lost city of Praxus. 

Once onboard, Jazz and the rest of the expedition team all met up on the bridge. Lieutenant Chromia greeted them all, making introductions for everyone who hadn’t previously met. Jazz already knew Blaster and First Aid, but not Nautica or Wheeljack. Hound was a new face too, and Jazz happily shook hands with the geologist, the engineer and… whatever Wheeljack was supposed to be. 

Then Commander Getaway joined them and announced the launch. Jazz held on tight to a handrail as the ship powered up, humming with latent energy before plunging forward into the crimson waters of the Rust Sea. It was exhilarating to watch the bow of the ship cleave through the waves as they built up speed. He could hear Blaster at the communications terminal, relaying instructions to and reports from the engine room and other parts of the ship. It sounded like everything was going smoothly, and sure enough, a few minutes later the crew burst into cheers.

Jazz joined in, throwing himself into a spontaneous group hug with Nautica and Hound. All the years he’d spent studying the long lost Praxan language and culture, so long lost that most Cybertronians believed that Praxus had never actually existed, were finally going to pay off. He knew it in his spark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone unfamiliar with Disney’s Atlantis: The Lost Empire, consider this a recommendation to go watch it. I absolutely love that movie ~~and the idea of Kida!Prowl~~
> 
> Continues in [Mythology](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25661503/chapters/63627301).


	23. Dance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: return of the return of idiots in love, kissing robots. Continuation of [Masquerade](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25661503/chapters/63124903).

_ Owwww. _

Jazz sat up slowly, holding his helm and feeling around it carefully for the dent that had to be there with the way his head was throbbing. “Th’frag happened?” 

“Ah, ah, ah, lay right back down, you.” A gentle but firm hand on his shoulder pressed him back down. “I’m not done looking you over.”

“Don’need looking over,” Jazz protested, turning to look at the mech kneeling over him. “Who’re you?”

“You don’t know who I am but you  _ don’t  _ need looking over?”

“Two words: costume. Party.”

“Don’t go getting smart with me,” the mech said in an unmistakable tone.

“Ratchet.” Jazz looked around as much as possible without trying to get up again. “Seriously, what the frag happened?”

“That’s what I’d like to know. Arcee and Grimlock found you both out cold on the floor with no sign of a struggle other than the hole in your head that, in my professional opinion, you inflicted on yourself when you spontaneously keeled over into a table leg.”

That explained the ache at least. Jazz forced himself to think past it, rebooting his short term memory cache to figure out who “you both” meant and what could possibly have made  _ him  _ spontaneously keel over.

“Oh.” 

Oh, nooooo… 

“He’s waking up, Ratchet,” Ironhide’s voice came from just a few feet away. “Take your time there, Prowl.” 

Jazz looked up at the ceiling and said a silent prayer for the floor to open and swallow him whole.

“My logs indicate a crash,” Prowl said clearly. “Is there an emergency?”

“We’re not sure. Whatever caused your crash took Jazz out too, but neither of you are really hurt.”

“Jazz?” Prowl fell silent. Jazz could feel the moment the pieces came together in his processor and was simultaneously mortified and relieved that Prowl was equally mortified. “Oh.”

“Either of you feel like elaborating on that ‘oh’?” Ratchet asked, giving Jazz a suspicious look.

“I really don’t,” Jazz answered, cursing the floor for its commitment to the material plane.

“There is no elaboration necessary,” Prowl added in a strained voice. “My apologies for the alarm we caused.”

“Tell that to Red Alert. He thought you’d been poisoned.”

“I didn’t ask if elaboration was ‘necessary’.”

“No, you just asked if we wanted to. Which we don’t. End of story.” Jazz risked a glance at Prowl, who nodded.

“Thank you for your assistance. We’ll take it from here.”

Ratchet looked like he was going to argue, but Ironhide took his arm. “Alright, but let someone know if you need help,” he said, taking them both out of the room.

The sound of the door clicking shut echoed in the painful silence.

“Pretty sure it’s safe to say we both need help,” Jazz mumbled, shoulders hunched as he sat up. “So.”

“So.”

Awk~ward.

Jazz caved first. “You said you liked Meister. Liked me. You said you liked me.” He would totally forgive the floor if Primus answered this prayer instead. Spark hammering in his chassis, he asked, “Did you mean it?”

.

.

.

Prowl’s vocalizer clicked and reset. Jazz wanted to know if he’d meant it, and it sounded like he was hoping the answer was yes. “I did,” he finally got out, playing back the cursedly — blessedly? — clear memory of the conversation preceding his crash. “Did you?”

“Yes. As Barricade and as… well.” Jazz made an awkward sound, not meeting Prowl’s optics. “Remember how I first came onto you?”

What did that have to do with anything? Unless Jazz thought he was uncomfortable with mechs being so forward about ‘facing, which he demonstrably wasn’t! “For a one night stand?”

“Yeah, but, do you remember why I picked  _ you?” _

“You picked Barricade,” Prowl reminded him. 

“Because…?”

“Because he looked like som—” Nooo, no, no he was not crashing again. “A moment,” he said, holding up a hand as he duelled his warring thoughts into submission. The conclusion he reached was ridiculous, but it was the only thing that made sense. “You were looking for a substitute for a hopeless crush and you chose me because I looked like myself.”

“Pretty much.” Jazz had the grace to look sheepish about it, but there was still an edge of hopeful eagerness in his slowly uncurling posture. “And, as I recall, you said yes for the same reason.”

“I did.” He’d agreed to Meister’s proposition because he’d looked like Jazz, which stood perfectly to reason now that he knew they were the same mech. “So.”

“So.”

Primus… 

Prowl took a deep breath. “We really need to stop dancing around this. Jazz, I like you. I’ve liked you since before I met you as Meister and then I fell for you all over again without knowing it. If you feel the same,” and please, please, please let him feel the same, “I’d like to go out with you. Properly.”

Jazz began laughing, a soft, musical laugh that wasn’t cruel or insulting at all. “I don’t just feel the same, I  _ did  _ the same! I can’t believe how lucky I am. Or maybe how stupid I am,” he said with that endearing lopsided grin. “I haven’t ruined everything by being a colossal idiot, have I?”

“If I haven’t, you haven’t.” Prowl was beginning to feel lucky too, and the rising giddiness in his spark had his charge rising again too. Abject humiliation had made a dent in all the high grade he’d consumed, but it hadn’t burned off all of it and Prowl knew how good it felt to kiss Jazz. He knew how good it felt to cross cables with Jazz. 

He knew what Jazz looked like in the throes of overload.

Jazz chuckled again. “Was that your engine or mine?” 

“Mine.” Prowl got up and took Jazz’s hand, pulling him to his feet and backing him up against the wall. “But it’ll be yours in a minute.”

The kiss was absolutely electric, familiar and brand new in equal measures. Jazz responded eagerly, and in the end Prowl was only wrong about one thing.

It took less than a minute for the sound of two engines revving to fill the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Totally bent that AU out of recognition, but there’s been dancing in both of the previous installments and they’ve been dancing around the truth since the beginning so I decided to take the risk that you wouldn’t mind XD


	24. Cursed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: loss of verbal filter, inappropriate verbal advances

“Hey Prowl, can I get your help over here? We’ve got another one!”

Another one? That made three so far tonight. Their target was out there right now, preying on innocent mechs while they played catchup on the ones he’d already damaged.

“Here,” Nightbeat said, pushing a black and white Polyhexian with— was that tape over his mouth? at Prowl as soon as he saw him. “I’m still working on Truncheon’s statement in interrogation 2, so you and this guy can take 3 and get to know each other.”

“Right.” Prowl looked at the other mech. “And just who am I getting to know?”

There was a muffled sound as the mech tried to talk through the tape. Prowl started to reach for it but the mech backed away and covered the tape with his hands.

“He came in with this,” Nightbeat held out a folded bit of flimsy. Prowl took it and opened it to reveal the words,  _ My name is Jazz and I’ve been Cursed. _

Prowl looked up. “Do you know what happened?”

Jazz nodded, his hands and the tape still muffling his speech. 

“Please come with me,” Prowl said, ushering their latest witness down the hall. “My name is Prowl. I’m one of the investigators currently assigned to tracking down the source of this virus.” Jazz nodded again and followed him into the interrogation room without any trouble, but he didn’t take his hands away from his mouth. “I’m going to need you to remove the tape.”

Amazingly, his immediate  _ no way!  _ was perfectly distinguishable despite the barriers he’d put in place. The rest of what he tried to say, however, was unintelligible.

Prowl sighed. “You don’t need to worry about being charged for any unrelated information you may inadvertently reveal,” he promised. Useful as it would be to use the effects to elicit as many confessions as possible, it wouldn’t be ethical. Besides, “The captain has ruled that all testimonies collected on this case are to be sealed once the Truth Curse Virus has been stopped.”

Jazz relaxed a fraction, but he still looked wary. Prowl wanted to believe he was just nervous about accidentally admitting to traffic violations as he babbled, but something about the mech told Prowl he was sitting on something more serious than that.

“Will you remove the tape and talk to me if I turn off the recorder and only take notes?” he offered, prioritizing the current investigation above everything else. “You are a victim in this case. Your rights are protected.”

Wariness and resignation alternated in Jazz’s visor as he slowly lowered one of his hands and peeled up one edge of the tape with the other. Prowl winced in sympathy at the awful sound it made when he ripped it off and handed over a small emergency cooling pack.

“Thank you. Wow, that’s really cold,” Jazz said as he pressed it to his face. “And you’re really hot.”

“I’m— excuse me?” 

“You’re really hot. I’d say sorry for saying that but I can’t because it’d be a lie, I’m not sorry at all and I can’t exactly lie right now and seriously, you are really hot.”

Prowl blinked.

“Maybe you should switch with your buddy before I really get going because I’m not going to be able to stop the words spilling straight from my processor out my mouth and I can’t stop thinking about what it would feel like to have you bend me over this table and fr—”

“Okay then!” Prowl clapped his hands down on the table and Jazz clapped his back over his mouth, temporarily cutting off the unfiltered flow of his fantasies. 

“If it helps,” Jazz mumbled through his fingers, “I feel really bad that I’m making you uncomfortable with all this and I’d stop it if I could, if I could I’d flirt with you properly and I really hope you catch the fragger that did this to me because he’s ruined any chance I might’ve had with you and it’s killing me that I won’t get to find out if kissing you would be soft and sweet or hot and heavy.”

Oh, Primus. 

“Nightbeat!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess what Prowl's not going to be able to stop thinking about now XD


	25. Pen Pal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: young narrator. Continuation of [Royalty](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25661503/chapters/62608339).

When the letter had first arrived, Jazz’s tutor had withheld it from him until he finished his lessons for the day. Jazz didn’t think that was very nice of him, but the mech liked to “motivate” him like that a lot. That was why Jazz snuck out of his room to read it at night, alone with a lamp in the library. No way he was asking the meanie for help with the big words!

And there were a lot of big words. Jazz knew it was from a mech named Prince Prowl because he skipped ahead to read the signature first (it was a really pretty signature!) but the rest of the letter was hard. It was like the letters his creators got, the Very Important ones they said he would get someday when he grew up, only it was here now and addressed to him. 

Prince Prowl lived all the way away in Praxus. That was the yellow country in the corner of the map; Polyhex was the blue one in the middle. This letter had come a long way! Jazz wondered how old Prowl was and if he was the only prince. He hadn’t learned about the rulers of the other countries yet. 

“Fa...cil...it-ate.” Jazz worked his way through the word and flipped until he found it in the dictionary. “To make easier. ‘I am writing you in the hope that opening a line of cor-respondence,’” that one meant ‘spondence, which were the kind of letters you had to read and then send a letter back, “‘will make easier getting to know you.’” Oh! Prowl wanted to get to know him! That was exciting!

“‘As we are of an age’…” Jazz couldn’t find that in the dictionary so he kept reading and hoped it wasn’t really important, “‘or very nearly, I felt it would be ad-van… good, to begin con-sider-ing… thinking about what sort of relationship would benefit,’” that word he’d just learned last week! “‘benefit us most in the future.’” 

Well, that was easy! They should be friends, of course! Penfriends. Jazz grabbed a piece of paper so he could tell Prowl about himself. Maybe he should make it extra fancy since Prowl liked big twisty sentences. 

He stayed up all night writing and rewriting his letter until he was happy with it. Then he decorated it with some pictures so Prowl would know what the things he wrote about looked like and folded the finished letter into an envelope. The page that found him there promised to send it out for him after he stopped being so surprised to find Jazz in the library so early in the morning.

The mean tutor was unhappy when Jazz fell asleep during lessons that day, but Jazz was too busy dreaming about all the letters he and his new friend were going to share to notice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! Or maybe not surprise that Prowl wrote directly to his potential future suitors, regardless of their age, instead of reaching out through diplomatic channels. Jazz here is on the younger end of the eligible range of course, but those letters he’s dreaming about are going to make quite the impression over the years :)


	26. Pirate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: barbarian AU, genderbending, established relationship, accent-heavy dialogue, kissing

The high seas weren’t all grand adventures all the time. Prowl didn’t regret her decision to live the life of a warrior with her bondmate, but it did limit her options in the troughs between the waves of excitement. Jazz’s company she would never tire of, but her beloved didn’t really do prolonged idleness and, well…

“Spirits’n gods, if th’wind don’t pick up by sundown I’m gonna jump in an’ start pushin’!”

“Th’kattumaram’s too heavy fer that’n ya know it.”

“I don’t care! We’ve been been stuck here fer ages!”

“You wanna be too tired t’use th’wind when it comes, be my guest.”

“Fine! See if I don’t!”

_ SPLASH! _

…the less said about her twin’s nonexistent tolerance for it, the better.

“I see ya makin’ faces,” Jazz said, flopping down as much next to as on top of Prowl on the deck between the two hulls of the catamaran. “What’s wrong?”

Prowl shifted her handiwork out of the way so Jazz wouldn’t stab herself on the heavy steel needle she was using. “With me? Nothin’. ‘S Rico who’s losin’ her mind.”

“Nah. She’d need a mind t’lose, first.”

“I heard that!” Ricochet’s voice rose up from the water.

Jazz ignored her. “But yer still makin’ faces.”

“I’m  _ concentrating,  _ not ‘makin’ faces’,” Prowl chuckled and hefted the heavy fabric in her lap to show Jazz the section she was repairing. “We might need th’wind t’get outta th’doldrums, but wind also tears up sails.”

“So do shipcats.”

“Sundance had nothing to do with— Sundance! Leave that alone!” Prowl flicked the edge of the sail in an attempt to shoo her cat away from it, which of course only encouraged her to pounce it again.

“Going to kill it,” Sundance meowed, tail lashing feverishly. “It can’t escape!”

“It’s not even alive,” Prowl meowed back.

“Not once I kill it, no.”

Jazz didn’t understand, but she still laughed. “Give it up, beautiful. She’s not gonna let it go, so just let ‘er have it and pay attention t’me instead.”

“Cats, the both of you!”

“Yes,” Jazz agreed with a toothy grin. “And?”

Prowl rolled her optics and slid her sailor’s palm off, folding it up in the sail along with the needle and waxed twine. “And you win,” she said, leaning in to give Jazz a kiss.

Sundance attacked the bundled up sail again as soon as she set it aside, and Prowl left her to it. She had a bondmate to lavish attention on! 

Things were really starting to get going when—

“Prowl! Watch out for—”

_ SPLAT! _

Sundance’s warning came too late for Prowl to dodge the fat, wet fish flying through the air. She squeaked when it hit her and Jazz squawked when it fell on her, both sounds going unnoticed by Ricochet through her own proud cackling.

Jazz started to growl something at her, but Prowl was already on her feet and leaping off the deck. She was not going to let that go unpunished!

Soon she and Ricochet were both spluttering while Jazz laughed at them and Sundance quietly made off with the fish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was no way I wasn’t going to use this prompt to visit our barbarians AU (series link [here](https://archiveofourown.org/series/968571) for anyone unfamiliar or interested in a reread <3). There might not be a lot of piratey things going on here but pirates are still pirates even when they’re not pirating XD Arr!


	27. Mythology

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of [Disney](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25661503/chapters/63369169).

After the number of times they had almost died on this journey already, Jazz’s first thought upon regaining consciousness was, “Did we finally bite it this time?” They’d certainly fallen far enough when the bridge collapsed that he wouldn’t be surprised if this was the Well. It was dark though; wasn’t the Well supposed to be full of light?

He fell back with a gasp when he tried to push himself up, wincing at the pain radiating down his arm. Nothing else hurt, miraculously, but whatever he’d landed on hadn’t done his shoulder any favors. With any luck the rest of the expedition had landed nearby and he could find a medkit.

Light. He needed a light.

No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than a strange blue glow appeared a short distance away. Jazz watched the light as it moved closer, shapes separating and sharpening into a stylized face at about the right height for a mech. A mask? Iridescent paint? Either way, his visitor wasn’t anyone from the expedition, and that meant… 

“Who are you?” Jazz asked softly, not moving so that one, he wouldn’t scare the other mech away and two, his shoulder really hurt. “My name is Jazz. What’s yours?”

_ “Դպᓳ。ৈټ𓁬” _

Okay, he had no idea what language that was and he wanted to hear more of it but suddenly the other mech was right up next to him, poking at his injured shoulder. “Ow! Don’t— no no no don’t leave, just stop doing that maybe? It hurts,” Jazz said quickly, relieved when the mech only moved back a couple of steps. At first he couldn’t see what he was doing, but then the space between them was filled with the dim glow of a luminescent crystal.

The mech set the crystal down and kept looking for something in a satchel at his waist. Jazz took the opportunity to get a good look at him: about the same size as he was, maybe a little smaller. Definitely a grounder, going by the wheels, but there were wing-like panels extending back behind his shoulders into the shadows. The blue light Jazz had first spotted him by was revealed to be a mask, set over his face in a way that suggested it was detachable rather than retractable. 

He had no idea what his colors were. Something very dark and something very light, but the only light he had to see by at the moment was blue.

_ “অᬒ丂ݔ𓄠𓄗ᔫ ”  _ A small bottle appeared in the mech’s hand. In one swift motion he had the top off and was back beside Jazz, upending the contents over his shoulder.

“Hey! What are you— what is that?!” It felt  _ weird,  _ warm and tingling and numbing all at the same time. The only thing even remotely like it that Jazz could relate it to was nanite gel. Was this stuff seriously repairing his shoulder? 

After an intense moment it became clear that yes, it was a nanite solution of some kind. Jazz could move his shoulder again freely without pain, and he smiled at his visitor with gratitude. “Thank you. Please, tell me. Who are you?”

The mech hesitated, then brought his hands up to his mask. When it came away Jazz found himself face to face with one of the most beautiful mechs he’d ever seen.

_ “ᕂᗥᣈ؏৩” _

_ “ᕂᗥᣈ؏৩”  _ Jazz repeated, struggling a bit on the pronunciation. Was it a greeting? A name? A question? “I’m Jazz,” he said again, holding a hand over his spark. “Jazz.” Then he reached across the space between them, slowly, wondering if the mech would let him touch… 

_ “Քݥ𓂖ᗯᣭퟄ”  _ he said, covering Jazz’s hand with one of his own before bringing the other to Jazz’s chest.  _ “Jংج” _

Completing the mirror, Jazz covered the mech’s hand and squeezed his fingers. His visitor’s pronunciation wasn’t any better than his own had likely been, but there was no mistaking what he’d tried to say. “Yeah. Jazz. Hi  _ Քݥ𓂖ᗯᣭퟄ” _

_ Քݥ𓂖ᗯᣭퟄ  _ smiled.  _ “؞Jংج” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Atlantis!Praxus :D:D:D Because it's a myth ;)


	28. Road Trip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: traveling alone, being followed

Jazz hadn’t planned on driving between Kaon and Iacon. It wasn’t an undoable journey, but it was long enough to be prohibitive, so he’d scheduled a shuttle to make the trip in a single day.

Then storms grounded all flyers, with the met reports estimating a week before commercial flights could safely resume. Suddenly a five day road trip didn’t seem so bad.

He spent the first day driving along to the sound of his own speakers, giving a friendly beep to other vehicles he recognized as they repeatedly passed or fell behind each other on the long haul. There was one eighteen wheeler with a seriously tricked out cab and awesome flame decals that he began to look for specifically when he got back on the highway any time he pulled off for a bit of a rest.

The second day, though, he picked up a shadow. Never passing him, never even coming close enough for Jazz to get a good look at him, he was still definitely following him. Jazz changed up his breaks multiple times, going for hours without stopping and then stopping every twenty minutes or so, regardless of what was at the exits he picked (he found a neat knick-knack shop, a really good slushie place, and too many adult stores to count). Each time he got back on the highway, his tail would reappear within five minutes.

Jazz hoped the mech would find something else to do the next day, and after a night’s rest it looked like he just might have. Two hours into day three and he was shadow free, cruising along at a speed that ate up the miles like energon goodies.

It was right about the time he’d forgotten about him that his shadow reappeared. Jazz indulged in more than a little annoyed engine revving, though of course it didn’t have any effect on the mech still lurking too far back for a good look. Without knowing who he’d be up against Jazz was hesitant to pull a U-turn or slam on his brakes to try to confront him. What if he was a criminal, pacing Jazz while he waited for an opportunity to strike? He’d get a chance tomorrow if Jazz couldn’t shake him; the highway had a good flow of traffic here, but the flats between Altihex and Uraya were pretty empty.

Or maybe he was just being paranoid. Maybe something had shaken loose in his processor with the marathon driving.

He was really happy to see Tricked-Out Cab again when he stopped for the night, driving up to park next to him like they were close friends. “Hi! Mind if I park in your shade?” he asked, his nerves easing a bit when the mech replied, “Sure, go right ahead.”

They got to talking about where they were going and what had them on the same roads. Tricked-Out was on a job, transporting freight long distance. He was sympathetic when Jazz told him about the situation with his shuttle, and didn’t laugh at him when he mentioned being pretty sure he was being followed. 

“You know you can call the highway patrol for things like that, don’t you?”

“What if they think I’m just seeing things?”

“It’s their job to check and make sure you’re not. I haven’t had much trouble along this stretch of road in a while, but the patrol officer I dealt with the last time I did was a good mech.”

“Yeah? I don’t know…” 

Tricked-Out sighed. “Look. I don’t want to frighten or pressure you, but you came over to me so you would have someone big and intimidating between you and whatever’s out there.” Jazz tried to protest, but he kept going over top of him. “I don’t mind. There’s nothing wrong with asking for help, and I’m happy to do what I can, but I’ve also got a schedule to keep.”

“I wouldn’t want to get you in trouble.”

“Then call the patrol,” Tricked-Out said in a voice that was kind but firm. “Or I’ll do it myself.”

Jazz bowed to the gentle demand and promised to call in the morning. 

Tricked-Out stayed with him until the officer arrived, and they exchanged friendly greetings. “You’re in good hands,” the large semi assured Jazz before getting underway. “Prowl’s a good mech.”

“Thanks for all your help, big guy,” Jazz said, waving as he drove off. Then he swiveled on his tires to face Prowl. “Thanks for coming. I hope I’m not bothering you.”

“You’re not bothering me, I promise you. Please, can you tell me what’s been happening?”

Jazz relayed everything he could, including the tricks he’d tried to confirm he was being followed. Prowl listened patiently, asking clarifying questions along the way.

“First of all, I believe you,” he said when Jazz was finished. “Unfortunately, what you’ve described matches other descriptions we have from prior incidents. There’s a gang out on the flats that occasionally ambushes mechs for… less than pleasant reasons.”

“Oh. Lovely.” Jazz shivered. Whatever “less than pleasant” meant, he was sure he could live without ever finding out. “So what do I do?”

“That depends on where you’re headed and how quickly you need to get there.”

“Iacon, whenever. I already missed my original arrival date when my shuttle got canceled, so I’m not really in a rush.” Especially if Prowl thought waiting would make them leave him alone. “Should I stay here a few days then?”

“You could. Alternatively, you could drive back to Petrex and take the shuttle from there to Nyon, which bypasses the flats. Normally that would be my advice, but there is another option in this case; if you’re willing to push your engine a little.”

“Huh?”

“They target mechs traveling alone. If we leave now, we can catch up with our friend and form a miniature convoy of sorts.”

“But… can you do that? I mean, I don’t want to monopolize your time.”

“I would be coming along both as an investigator and an escort in case of an incident, both of which are perfectly good uses of my time. And if the journey proves uneventful, as I hope it will, it will still have been time with you— been time not wasted.” 

Jazz would have grinned if he’d been in root mode. Prowl had tried to cover it, but that had sounded like accidental flirting to Jazz! “Let’s not waste any more time then,” he said. Road trips were more fun with company, and the prospect of having two new friends would have enticed him even without the extra possibilities. His worries completely gone, Jazz flashed his lights playfully. “Let’s go!”

They took off together, leaving only a cloud of dust behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really did not know what to do with this one. Wound up almost creepy by accident for a bit there, but all’s well that ends well right? Three guesses who Tricked-Out is lol


	29. Band

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: D&D, crack

The room was already full when Prowl and Smokescreen arrived. Smokescreen greeted several of them by name and even exchanged some sort of bizarre handshake with the mech at the head of the table, but Prowl didn’t know anyone there. He wouldn’t have even come if his cousin hadn’t insisted. “A great way to meet new people,” he’d called it, and Prowl could see where he was coming from, but he really wasn’t interested in meeting new people right now.

He also wasn’t interested in listening to Smokescreen’s badgering anymore, so he’d agreed to just one pickup game. A single unpleasant and uneventful evening should get him off his back for at least a week, maybe two, and Prowl considered that a price worth paying after how insistent the last lecture had been.

“Hey there! You’re a new face, aren’t you? Pull up a chair,” a white and black mech with blue racing stripes called out to him. “What’s your name?”

“What’s yours?” 

“Jazz,” the mech replied, still smiling despite Prowl’s frosty tone, “better known here as Trogdor the Burninator!”

Trogdor the— what was that nonsense? “Excuse me?” 

“My character’s a wizard,” Jazz said as though this explained everything. “What about you? What’s your character?”

“I don’t know. Smokescreen put it together for me.”

“Lemme see?”

Prowl looked around the table and saw only one seat left right beside Jazz. Resigned, he sat down and handed over his character sheet.

“Ooh, you’re a wizard too! Nice to meet you, Magical Trevor!”

Magical. Trevor.

Prowl wasn’t going to talk to Smokescreen for a month.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the merry band of ~~internet memes~~ adventurers heads out on a quest to convince Prowl that D&D is actually fun, even if your cousin is an idiot and the game's a lot more fun with a group that doesn't include him ~~no that's not overly specific shoosh~~. Apologies for how short this one is. Today was not a very good day (for non-game related reasons). Also #I’m(atleast)ThisOld


	30. Roommates

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: engex/high grade/alcohol, arguably bad decisions

“So yeah, basically I’m out a roommate.” Jazz tossed back the rest of his cube and flagged the barkeep for another. “I’ve got until the end of the month to figure out where I’m going.”

“Why not just renew your current lease by yourself?”

“With what money, Blaster? I can’t afford this area on my own, I  _ need  _ someone to split costs with. Believe me, I wouldn’t be moving if I didn’t have to.” The barkeep handed him his refill and Jazz drank a third of it right off the top.

“Woah, hey, you’re going a bit fast.”

“Well if I’m gonna be out on my aft I might as well be off my aft first, right?”

“Um, no. That’s probably not the best idea.”

“Oh yeah?” Jazz pulled his drink in protectively. “Try and stop me.”

Half an hour later Jazz found himself back at his apartment complex, every bit as drunk off his aft as he’d hoped to get but not still out where he could keep the buzz going. A small part of his processor said he’d be grateful to Blaster for dragging him home tomorrow, but right now he was too busy being annoyed at him. “Who is he to say when I have or haven’t had enough anyway!”

“Right? That’s what I told him, but he said I was ‘too far gone to know what was good for me’.”

Jazz turned at the unexpected commentary and saw another mech sitting on one of the benches in the complex’s courtyard. He looked as drunk as Jazz felt, and more than a little miserable. “Yeah? You got someone ruining your fun tonight too?”

“Worse: ‘looking out for me’, as if this wasn’t his fault in the first place.”

“As if what wasn’t his fault?”

“Ending it. Us. All of it.” The mech’s head dropped back and he stared up at the sky. Jazz looked up and nearly fell over from all the stars spinning. “He upends my entire life with a single sentence and then goes all disapproving when I get upset about it.”

“Ugh. Sounds like my roommate.” Jazz flopped down on the other end of the bench, knowing he was whining and not caring. “Here I am, figuring we’ll be renewing our lease for another year, and all of a sudden he up and says, nope! I’m moving out, buh-bye! Let’s stay friends!”

“Stay friends?” His benchmate outright laughed. “No thank you. How are we supposed to stay friends after he breaks up with me and then tells me oh, by the way,  _ I’m  _ the one who has to move out?”

“And who can afford this side of town on their own, right?”

“Right! But noooo, he wants his new fling to move in with him so out I go, Mr. Cold and Uncaring.”

“Sounds like your roommate-lover-ex should try a mirror. You’ll be better off without him.”

“I’ll barely be making ends meet without him.” The mech sighed and tried to straighten up. He failed, slumping over until he was leaning against Jazz’s shoulder. “I don’t earn enough on my own even without accounting for increased commuting costs.”

“Same boat, mech. Same boat.” Jazz reached over to pat his arm. “Saaaay,” he drawled, patting speeding up in sudden excitement, “why don’t you move in with me? It’s perfect!”

“What?”

“I live right there,” Jazz waved toward the C building, “unit 12. You move in with me and split the rent and neither of us has to go anywhere. What do you say?”

“I say…” The mech’s optics flickered with overcharge. “That actually would solve everything.”

“Right?”

“Right! Only… I think I might be a little bit drunk.”

“Pfft.” Jazz snorted. “I  _ know  _ I’m drunk.”

“We shouldn’t decide something like this while we’re drunk.”

“Ehhh, nothing’s decided till our names are on the renewal.” Whatever this mech’s name was. “And we won’t still be drunk then. At least come up and see the place!”

“Now?”

“Sure!”

The mech hesitated, but didn’t resist when Jazz stood and pulled on his arm. “Come on, just for a few minutes. You’ll love it, I promise!”

They made it as far as the couch.

The next morning, Jazz woke up disoriented and with an aching processor. As his visor lit up he reviewed his memory cache, trying to make sense of the scramble the engex had left behind. He remembered going out drinking… and then Blaster had cut him off and brought him home… 

The mech beside him on the couch shifted. The rest of his memory clicked into place when Jazz looked at him. “Hey there. How are you feeling this morning?”

“Not… not my best.” The mech groaned as he sat up, holding his helm in his hands. “What happened?”

“Give it a minute,” Jazz said quietly for the sake of both their heads. “I’m going to grab something not triple-distilled.”

“Good idea.” The mech looked around the room slowly while Jazz crossed it to grab a couple of mild mid grade cubes from the kitchenette. “This is your apartment, right?”

“Right.” Jazz came back and handed him one cube before sitting back down beside him. “The apartment I asked you if you wanted to move into last night.”

“Right.” The mech sipped his cube. “I’m not sure hungover is any better of a state to be making decisions in.”

“Maybe not, but hey — if it sounded good drunk, and it sounds good hungover, maybe it’ll still sound good sober.”

“Maybe.” They drank in silence for a moment, occasionally glancing at each other. “If you told me your name last night, I’m afraid I don’t remember it.”

“Ditto. I mean, I don’t either, not that my name is Ditto. My name is Jazz.”

“Prowl. You’d really consider me as a roommate?”

“Well, I’d like to know a little more about you than your name and that you’ve got a sack of slag for an ex before we go signing anything,” Jazz said with a hint of a grin, “but yeah. I’m still open to the idea.”

“Then let’s talk about it.” Prowl winced. “Right after my head stops throbbing.”

Jazz raised his cube. “I’ll drink to that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who, me, not like Tumbler/Chromedome? Nahhhh XD Also he’s totally the lousy ex-boyfriend who dumped Prowl and kicked him out. As for what traitor Jazz was living with, I don’t actually know — feel free to insert your least favorite character a la Mad Libs!


	31. The Great British Baking Show

First day in the tent! 

Jazz bounced around the tent, giddy with excitement as he looked at everything, and he wasn’t alone. There was a red and silver Praxan squealing over the appliances and a bright red mech dragging an equally eye-catching yellow mech around with him, exclaiming over things while his friend just grumbled. Jazz wondered how they knew each other. He didn’t know anyone, but he wasn’t going to let that stop him from making friends.

“Hi there,” he said to the green and red striped mech examining the dimensions of the freezers. “I’m Jazz, pleased to meet you!”

“Likewise!” The mech turned and, though he had a mask over the lower half of his face, Jazz could see the smile in his optics. “I’m Wheeljack. I’m so excited to finally be here I can’t even tell you.”

“Me too! I barely slept last night,” Jazz admitted. “I was too busy thinking about this morning!”

“And reviewing recipes in your head?” They both laughed. “I know the feeling.” 

“Hey guys! We haven’t said hi to you yet — Sideswipe and Sunstreaker,” the red mech Jazz had noticed earlier said, introducing himself and his yellow shadow. “We’re brothers, but I’m totally going to kick his aft.”

“Please. You’ll be lucky to make it through the first week.” 

Sideswipe laughed like it was a joke, but Jazz made a note to be careful around Sunstreaker. The way he’d said that was pretty harsh. “Jazz and Wheeljack, we just met.”

“And pleased to meet you both as well! You might have competition for first out of the tent,” Wheeljack chuckled. “I’m not the world’s most consistent baker.”

“I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

“Yeah, just don’t let the nerves get to you!”

After a little more wandering and chatting, Jazz thought he’d met everyone in the tent. Then he looked at the work stations and found a black and white Praxan he’d missed at the one in front of his. He looked a little overwhelmed. “Hello,” Jazz said, extending a warm hand. “I’m Jazz. Are you looking forward to the baking?”

“I am and I’m not,” the mech said. His grip when he took Jazz’s hand wasn’t timid, but he sounded uncertain. “I don’t know that I practiced enough. Prowl, by the way.”

“Well, Prowl, I can tell you that you practiced more than I did. I was only able to do two test bakes before I got chased out of the kitchen at home.”

“You share a residence?”

“Yeah. I keep telling him he’d get to have more desserts if he’d let me practice more, but he likes to cook and I can’t bake while he’s fumigating the place with all his spices. No one wants curry cupcakes.”

Prowl smiled at that. “I’m sure you’ll do just fine regardless.”

“And so will you,” Jazz said, grinning back. 

It was at that point that the hosts arrived. Prowl shifted his attention to them, and Jazz spared a thought that he hoped Prowl would stick around a few weeks so he could get to know him better before doing the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes. Yes I put Wheeljack in a kitchen. Mwahahahaha!!! *evil laugh* Also I bet no one can guess what I’ve been rewatching lately, lol. 
> 
> Thank you all so, so much for sharing this month with me. I’m so glad I made it all the way through and I hope it was fun for you as well! 💖🎷🎶 x 🚓🍩💖


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